PC-NRLF 


71 

C-' 


C\J 

in 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


,,   15 

HUMBOLDT  LIBRARY.    [No.  55. 

e  Trade%  KETUILNABLE,  by  the  News  Companies. 


THE   SCIENTIFIC   BASIS 


OF 


ORALS, 

AND    OTHER    ESSAYS. 


BY 


WILLIAM  KINGDOM  CLIFFORD,  F.R.S. 


CATALOGUE  OP  THE  LTBRAHY. 

(Continued  from  last  page  of  cover.) 


Nos.  50,  51.  Money  and  the  Mechanism  of  Exchange.    BY  W.  STANLEY 
JEVONS,  F.R.S. 

52.  The  Diseases  of  the  Will.    BY  TH.  RIBOT.    TRANSLATED  FROM 
THE  FRENCH  BY  J.  FITZGERALD,  A.M. 

63.  Animal  Automatism,  and   Other  Essays.    BY   PROF.   T.   II. 
HUXLEY,  F.R.S. 

54.  The  Birth  and  Growth  of  Myth.    BY  EDWARD  CLODD,  F.R.A.S. 


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PRIVATE    LIBRARY 

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CHARLES  A.  KOFOID. 


LEBRATED 


sun 


R 


GRAND,   SQUARE   AND   UPRIGHT 

PIANOFORTES 


The  demands  now  made  by  an  educated  musical  public  are  so  exacting  that  very  few  Piano-Forte 
Manufacturers  can  produce  Instruments  that  will  stand  the  test  which  merit  requires.  SOHMER&  CO.. 
as  Manufacturers,  rank  amongst  these  chosen  few,  who  ai-e  acknowledged  to  be  makers  of  standard 
tistruments.  In  these  days,  when  Manufacturers  urge  the  low  price  of  their  wares  rather  than  their 
superior  quality,  as  an  inducement  to  purchase,  it  may  not  be  amis-*  to  suggest  that,  in  a  Piano,  quality 
and  price  are  too  inseparably  joined  to  expect  the  one  without  the  other. 

Every  Piano  ought  to  be  judged  as  to  the  quality  of  its  tone,  its  touch,  and  its  workmanship;  if 
any  one  of  these  is  wanting  in  excellence,  however  good  the  others  may  be,  the  instrument  will  be 
imperfect.  It  is  the  combination  of  these  qualities  in  the  highest  degree,  tliat  constitutes  the  perfect 
Piano,  and  it  is  this  combination  which  has  given  the  "SOHMER  "  its  honorable  position  with  the  trade 
and  the  public. 

Received  First  Prize  Centennial  Exhibition,  Philadelphia,  1876. 
Received  First  Prize  at  Exhibition,  Montreal,  Canada,  1881  &  1883. 

SOHMER  &  CO.,  Manufacturers, 

149  to  155  E.  14th  St,  New  York. 


HUMBOLDT  LIBRARY 


POPULAR  SCIENCE  LITERATURE. 


No.   55.] 


NEW  YORK  :    ].  FITZGERALD.         [FIFTEEN  CENTS. 


April,  1884.  Entered  at  the  New  York  Post-Office  a*  Second-Class  Matter.         -| 

THE  SCIENTIFIC   BASIS 


OF 


MORALS, 

AND  OTHER  ESSAYS; 

Viz.:  RIGHT  AND  WRONG;  THI  ETHICS  OF  BELIEF;  THE  ETHICS  OP  RELIGIOK. 
BY  WILLIAM  KINGDON  CLIFFORD,  F.R.S. 


I.  ON  THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF 
MORALS. 

BY  Morals  or  Ethic  I  mean  the  doc- 
trine of  a  special  kind  of  pleasure  or  dis- 
pleasure which  is  felt  by  the  human 
mind  in  contemplating  certain  courses  of 
conduct,  whereby  they  are  felt  to  be  right 
or  wrong,  and  of  a  special  desire  to  do 
the  right  things  and  avoid  the  wrong 
ones.  The  pleasure  or  displeasure  is  com- 
monly called  the  moral  sense ;  the  cor- 
responding desire  might  be  called  the 
moral  appetite.  These  are  facts,  existing 
in  the  consciousness  of  every  man  who 
need  be  considered  in  this  discussion,  and 
sufficiently  marked  out  by  these  names  ; 
they  need  no  further  definition.  In  the 
same  way  the  sense  of  taste  is  a  feeling 
of  pleasure  or  displeasure  in  things  sa- 
vory or  unsavory,  and  is  associated  with 
a  desire  for  the  one  and  a  repulsion  from 
the  other.  We  must  assume  that  every- 
body knows  what  these  words  mean  ; 
the  feelings  they  describe  may  be  ana- 
lyzed or  accounted  for,  but  they  can- 
not be  more  exactly  defined  as  feel- 
ings. 

The  maxims  of  ethic  are  recommenda- 
tions or  commands  of  the  form,  '  Do  this 
particular  thing  because  it  is  right/  or 
'  Avoid  this  particular  thing  because  it  is 
wrong.'  They  express  the  immediate  de- 
sire to  do  the  right  thing  for  itself,  not  for 


the  sake  of  anything  else  :  on  this  account 
the  mood  of  them  is  called  the  categorical 
imperative.  The  particular  things  com- 
manded or  forbidden  by  such  maxims  de- 
pend upon  the  character  of  the  individual 
in  whose  mind  they  arise.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain general  agreement  in  the  ethical  code 
of  persons  belonging  to  the  same  race  at 
a  given  time,  but  considerable  variations 
in  different  races  and  times.  To  th« 
question  '  What  is  right  ?  '  can  therefore 
only  be  answered  in  the  first  instance, 
'  That  which  pleases  your  moral  sense.' 
But  it  may  be  further  asked  '  What  is  gen- 
erally thought  right  ?  '  and  the  reply  will 
specify  the  ethic  of  a  particular  race  and 
period.  But  the  ethical  code  of  an  indi- 
vidual, like  the  standard  of  taste,  may  b« 
modified  by  habit  and  education  ;  and  ac- 
cordingly the  question  may  be  asked, 
'  How  shall  I  order  my  moral  desires  so 
as  to  be  able  to  satisfy  them  most  com- 
pletely and  continuously?  What  ought 
I  to  feel  to  be  right?'  The  answer  to 
this  question  must  be  sought  in  the  study 
of  the  conditions  under  which  the  moral 
sense  was  produced  and  is  preserved  ;  in 
other  words,  in  the  study  of  its  functions 
as  a  property  of  the  human  organism. 
The  maxims  derived  from  this  study  may 
be  called  maxims  of  abstract  or  absolute 
right ;  they  are  not  absolutely  universal, 
'  eternal  and  immutable,'  but  they  are  in- 
dependent of  the  individual,  and  practi- 


2      [202] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


cally  universal  for  the  present  condition 
of  the  human  species. 

I  mean  by  Science  the  application  of 
experience  to  new  circumstances,  by  the 
aid  of  an  order  of  nature  which  has  been 
observed  in  the  past,  and  on  the  assump- 
tion that  such  order  will  continue  in  the 
future.  The  simplest  use  of  experience  as 
a  guide  to  action  is  probably  not  even 
conscious  ;  it  is  the  association  by  contin- 


2.  Derived  from  experience. 

3.  On  the  assumption  of  uniformity  in 


nature. 


These  propositions  I  shall  now  endeavor 
to  prove ;  and  in  conclusion,  I  shall  indi- 
cate the  direction  in  which  we  may  look 
for  those  general  statements  of  fact 


whose    organization 


complete  the 


likeness  of  ethical  and  physical  science. 

The  Tribal  Self  . — In  the  metaphysical 

ually-repeatecl  selection  of  certain  actions  I  sense,  the  word  '  self '  is  taken  to  mean  the 
with  certain  circumstances,  as  in  the  un-  |  conscious  subject,  das  Ich,  the  whole, 
consciously-acquired  craft  of  the  maker  of  j  stream  of  feelings  which  make  up  a 
flint  implements.  I  still  call  this  science,  consciousness  regarded  as  bound  to- 
although  it  is  only  a  beginning ;  because  |  gether  by  association  and  memory.  But, 
the  physiological  process  is  a  type  of  what  in  the  more  common  and  more  re- 


takes place  in  all  later  stages.  The  next 
step  may  be  expressed  in  "the  form  of  a 
hypothetical  maxim, — 'If  you  want  to 
make  brass,  melt  your  copper  along  with 
this  blue  stone.'  To  a  maxim  of  this  sort 
it  may  always  be  replied,  '  I  do  not  want 
to  make  brass,  and  so  I  shall  not  do  as 


stricted  ethical  sense,  what  we  call  self 
is  a  selected  aggregate  of  feelings  and 
of  objects  related  to  them  which  hangs 
together  as  a  conception  by  virtue  of 
long  and  repeated  association.  My  self 
does  not  include  all  my  feelings,  be- 
cause I  habitually  separate  off  some  of 


you  tell  me.'  This  reply  is  anticipated  in  them,  say  they  do  not  properly  belong,to 
the  final  form  of  science,  when  it  is  ex-  [  me,  and  treat  them  as  my  enemies.  On 
pressed  as  a  statement  or  proposition  :  j  the  other  hand,  it  does  in  general  include 
brass  is  an  alloy  of  copper  and  zinc,  and  j  my  body  regarded  as  an  object,  because 
calamine  is  zinc  carbonate.  Belief  in  a  |  of  the  fe'elings  which  occur  simultaneously 
general  statement  is  an  artifice  of  our  |  with  events  which  affect  it.  My  foot  is 


mental  constitution,  whereby  infinitely 
various  sensations  and  groups  of  sen- 
sations are  brought  into  connection  with 


certainly  part  of  myself,  because  I  get 
hurt  when  anybody  treads  on  it.  When 
we  desire  anything  for  its  somewhat  re- 


infinitely  various  actions  and  groups  of j  mote  consequences,  it  is  not  common  for 
actions.  On  the  phenomenal  side  there  these  to  be  represented  to  the  mind  in  the 
corresponds  a  certain  cerebral  structure  |  form  of  the  actual  feelings  of  pleasure 
by  which  various  combinations  of  dis-  j  which  are  ultimately  to  How  from  the 
'  -L~  ~  ^'  -  "—"'  •  -1  satisfaction  of  the  desire;  instead  of  this, 


turbances  in  the  sensor  tract  are  made 
to  lead  to  the  appropriate  combina- 
tions of  disturbances  in  the  motor  tract. 
The  important  point  is  that  science, 


they  are  replaced  by  a  symbolic  concep- 
tion which  represents  the  thing  desired 
as  doing  good  to  the  complex  abstraction 


though  apparently  transformed  into  pure   self.     This  abstraction  serves  thus  to  sup- 

1 I i 1 .  1 i_     •*  _     _i          .  „  _    -*_        .11        11,  ,1  .1  t  « 


knowledge,  has  yet  never  lost  its  charac- 
ter of  being  a  craft ;  and  that  it  is  not 
the  knowledge  itself  which  can  rightly  be 
called  science,  but  a  special  way  of  getting 
and  of  using  knowledge.  Namely,  sci- 
ence is  the  getting  of  knowledge  from  ex- 
perience on  the  assumption  of  uniform- 
ity in  nature,  and  the  use  of  such  knowl- 
edge to  guide  the  actions  of  men.  And 
the  most  abstract  statements  or  proposi- 
tions in  science  are  to  be  regarded  as  bun- 
dles of  hypothetical  maxims  packed  into 
a  portable  shape  and  size.  Every  scien- 
tific fact  is  a  shorthand  expression  for  a 
vast  number  of  practical  directions:  if 
you  want  so-and-so,  do  so-and-so. 

If  with  this  meaning  of  the  word 
'  Science,'  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  scien- 
tific basis  of  Morals,  it  must  be  true  that, — 

i.  The  maxims  of  Ethic  are  hypothet- 
ical maxims. 


port  and  hold  together  those  complex  and 
remote  motives  which  make  up  by  far  the 
greater  part  of  the  life  of  the  intelligent 
races.  When  a  thing  is  desired  for  no 
immediate  pleasure  that  it  can  bring,  it  is 
generally  desired  on  account  of  a  certain 
symbolic  substitute  for  pleasure,  the  feel- 
ing that  this  thing  is  suitable  to  the  self. 
And,  as  in  many  like  cases,  this  feeling, 
which  at  first  derived  its  pleasurable 
nature  from  the  faintly  represented  sim- 
ple pleasures  of  which  it  was  a  symbol, 
ceases  after  a  time  to  recall  them  and  be- 
comes a  simple  pleasure  itself.  In  this 
way  the  self  becomes  a  sort  of  center 
about  which  our  remoter  motives  revolve, 
and  to  which  they  always  have  regard  ; 
in  virtue  of  which,  moreover,  they  become 
immediate  and  simple,  from  having  been 
complex  and  remote. 

If  we  consider  now  the  simpler  races 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[293]      8 


of  mankind,  we  shall  find  not  only  that 
immediate  desires  play  a  far  larger  part 
in  their  lives,  and  so  that  the  conception 
of  self  is  less  used  and  less  developed, 
but  also  that  it  is  less  definite  and  more 
wide.  The  savage  is  not  only  hurt  when 
anybody  treads  on  his  foot,  but  when  any- 
body treads  on  his  tribe.  He  may  lose 
his  hut,  and  his  wife,  and  his  opportuni- 
ties of  getting  food.  In  this  way  the 
tribe  becomes  naturally  included  in  that 
conception  of  self  which  renders  remote 
desires  possible  by  making  them  immedi- 
ate. The  actual  pains  or  pleasures  which 
come  from  the  woe  or  weal  of  the  tribe, 
and  which  were  the  source  of  this  concep- 
tion, drop  out  of  consciousness  and  are 
remembered  no  more  ;  the  symbol  which 
has  replaced  them  becomes  a  center  and 
goal  of  immediate  desires,  powerful 
enough  in  many  cases  to  override  the 
strongest  suggestions  of  individual  pleas- 
ure or  pain. 

Here  a  helping  cause  comes  in.  The 
tribe,  qud  tribe,  has  to  exist,  and  it  can 
only  exist  by  aid  of  such  an  organic  arti- 
fice as  the  conception  of  the  tribal  self  in 
the  minds  of  its  members.  Hence  the 
natural  selection  of  those  races  in  which 
this  conception  is  the  most  powerful 
and  most  habitually  predominant  as  a 
motive  over  immediate  desires.  To 
such  an  extent  has  this  proceeded  that 
we  may  fairly  doubt  whether  the  self- 
hood of  the  tribe  is  not  earlier  in  point 
of  development  than  that  of  the  in- 
dividual. In  the  process  of  time  it  be- 
comes a  matter  of  hereditary  transmission, 
and  is  thus  fixed  as  a  specific  character  in 
the  constitution  of  social  man.  With  the 
settlement  of  countries,  and  the  aggrega- 
tion of  tribes  into  nations,  it  takes  a 
wider  and  more  abstract  form ;  and  in 
the  highest  natures  the  tribal  self  is  in- 
carnate in  nothing  less  than  humanity. 
Short  of  these  heights,  it  places  itself  in 
the  family  and  in  the  city.  I  shall  call 
that  quality  or  disposition  of  man  which 
consists  in  the  supremacy  of  the  family  or 
tribal  self  as  a  mark  of  reference  for 
motives  by  its  old  name  Piety.  And  I 
have  now  to  consider  certain  feelings  and 
conceptions  to  which  the  existence  of 
piety  must  necessarily  give  rise. 

Before  going  further,  however,  it  will 
be  advisable  to  fix  as  precisely  as  may  be 
the  sense  of  the  words  just  used.  Self, 
then,  in  the  ethical  sense,  is  a  conception 
in  the  mind  of  the  individual  which  serves 
as  a  peg  on  which  remote  desires  are 
hung  and  by  which  they  are  rendered 
immediate.  The  individual  self  is  such  a 


peg  for  the  hanging  of  remote  desires 
which  affect  the  individual  only.  The  tri- ' 
bal  self  is  a  conception  in  the  mind  of  the 
individual  which  serves  as  a  peg  on  which 
those  remote  desires  are  hung  which  were 
implanted  in  him  by  the  need  of  the  tribe 
as  a  tribe.  We  must  carefully  distinguish 
the  tribal  self  from  society,  or  the  '  com- 
mon consciousness ; '  it  is  something  in 
the  mind  of  each  individual  man  which 
binds  together  his  gregarious  instincts. 

The  word  tribe  is  here  used  to  mean  a 
group  of  that  size  which  in  the  circum- 
stances considered  is  selected  for  survival 
or  destruction  as  a  group.  Self-regard- 
ing excellences  are  brought  out  by  the 
natural  selection  of  individuals  ;  the  tribal 
self  is  developed  by  the  natural  selection 
of  groups.  The  size  of  the  groups  must 
vary  at  different  times;  and  the  extent 
of  the  tribal  self  must  vary  accord- 
ingly. 

Approbation  and  Conscience.  —  The 
tribe  has  to  exist.  Such  tribes  as  saw 
no  necessity  for  it  have  ceased  to  live. 
To  exist,  it  must  encourage  piety  ;  and 
there  is  a  method  which  lies  ready  to 
hand. 

We  do  not  like  a  man  whose  character 
is  such  that  we  may  reasonably  expect  in- 
juries from  him.  This  dislike  of  a  man 
on  account  of  his  character  is  a  more 
complex  feeling  than  the  mere  dislike  of 
separate  injuries.  A  cat  likes  your  hand 
and  your  lap,  and  the  food  you  give  her ; 
but  I  do  not  think  she  has  any  conception 
of  you.  A  dog,  however,  may  like  you 
even  when  you  thrash  him,  though  he 
does  not  like  the  thrashing.  Now  such 
likes  and  dislikes  may  be  felt  by  the  tribal 
self.  If  a  man  does  anything  generally 
regarded  as  good  for  the  tribe,  my  tribal 
self  may  say,  in  the  first  place,  '  I  like, 
that  thing  that  you  have  done.'  By  such 
common  approbation  of  individual  acts 
the  influence  of  piety  as  a  motive  becomes 
defined  ;  and  natural  selection  will  in  the 
long  run  preserve  those  tribes  which  have 
approved  the  right  things  ;  namely,  those 
things  which  at  that  time  gave  the  tribe 
an  advantage  in  the  struggle  for  exist- 
ence. But  in  the  second  place,  a  man 
may  as  a  rule  and  constantly,  being  actu- 
ated by  piety,  do  good  things  for  the 
tribe  ;  and  in  that  case  the  tribal  self  will 
say,  I  like  you.  The  feeling  expressed  by 
this  statement  on  the  part  of  any  individ- 
ual, '  In  the  name  of  the  tribe,  I  like  you,' 
is  what  I  call  approbation.  It  is  the  feel- 
ing produced  in  pious  individuals  by  that 
sort  of  character  which  seems  to  them 
beneficial  to  the  community. 


4      £294] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


Now  suppose  that  a  man  has  done 
something  obviously  harmful  to  the  com- 
munity. Either  some  immediate  desire, 
or  his  individual  self,  has  for  once  proved 
stronger  than  the  tribal  self.  When  the 
tribal  self  wakes  up,  the  man  says,  '  In 
the  name  of  the  tribe,  I  do  not  like  this 
thing  that  I,  as  an  individual,  have  done.' 
This  Self-judgment  in  the  name  of  the 
tribe  is  called  Conscience.  If  the  man 
goes  further  and  draws  from  this  act  and 
others  an  inference  about  his  own  charac- 
ter, he  may  say,  '  In  the  name  of  the 
tribe,  I  do  not  like  my  individual  self.' 
This  is  remorse.  Mr.  Darwin  has  well 
pointed  out  that  immediate  desires  are  in 
general  strong  but  of  short  duration,  and 
cannot  be  adequately  represented  to  the 
mind  after  they  have  passed ;  while  the 
social  forces,  though  less  violent,  have  a 
steady  and  continuous  action. 

In  a  mind  sufficiently  developed  to 
distinguish  the  individual  from  the  tribal 
self,  conscience  is  thus  a  necessary  result 
of  the  existence  of  piety;  it  is  ready  to 
hand  as  a  means  for  its  increase.  But  to 
account  for  the  existence  of  piety  and 
conscience  in  the  elemental  form  which 
we  have  hitherto  considered  is  by  no 
means  to  account  for  the  present  moral 
nature  of  man.  We  shall  be  led  many 
steps  in  that  direction  if  we  consider  the 
way  in  which  society  has  used  these  feel- 
ings of  the  individual  as  a  means  for  its 
own  preservation. 

Right  and  Responsibility. — A  like  or  a 
dislike  is  one  thing ;  the  expression  of  it  is 
another.  It  is  attached  to  the  feeling  by 
links  of  association  ;  and  when  this  asso- 
ciation has  been  selectively  modified  by 
experience,  whether  consciously  or  un- 
consciously, the  expression  serves  a  pur- 
pose of  retaining  or  repeating  the  thing 
liked,  and  of  removing  the  thing  disliked. 
Such  a  purpose  is  served  by  the  expres- 
sion of  tribal  approbation  or  disapproba- 
tion, however  little  it  may  be  the  con- 
scious end  of  such  expression  to  any  indi- 
vidual. It  is  necessary  to  the  tribe  thai 
the  pious  character  should  be  encouraged 
and  preserved,  the  impious  character  dis- 
couraged and  removed.  The  process  is 
of  two  kinds ;  direct  and  reflex.  In  the 
direct  process  the  tribal  dislike  of  the  of- 
fender is  precisely  similar  to  the  dislike  q 
a  noxious  beast ;  and  it  expresses  itself  in 
his  speedy  removal.  But  in  the  refle> 
process  we  find  the  first  trace  of  tha 
singular  and  wonderful  judgment  b] 
analogy  which  ascribes  to  other  men  a 
consciousness  similar  to  our  own.  If  the 
process  were  a  conscious  one,  it  might  per 


laps  be  described  in  this  way  :  the  tribal 
elf  says,  'Put  yourself  in  this  man's 
•lace ;  he  also  is  pious,  but  he  has 
•ffended,  and  that  proves  that  he  is  not 
>ious  enough.  Still,  he  has  some  con- 
cience,  and  the  expression  of  your  tribal 
dislike  to  his  character,  awakening  his 
onscience,  will  tend  to  change  him  and 
make  him  more  pio  is.'  But  the  process 
s  not  a  conscious  one  :  the  social  craft  or 
irt  of  living  together  is  learned  by  the 
ribe  and  not  by  the  individual,  and  the 
>urpose  of  improving  men's  characters  is 
)rovided  for  by  complex  social  arrange- 
nents  long  before  it  has  been  conceived 

any  conscious  mind.  The  tribal  self 
earns  to  approve  certain  expressions  of 
ribal  liking  or  disliking;  the  actions 
whose  open  approval  is  liked  by  the  tri- 
>al  self  are  called  right  actions,  and  those 
whose  open  disapproval  is  liked  are 
called  wrong  actions.  The  corresponding 
characters  are  called  good  or  bad,  virtu- 
ous or  vicious. 

This  introduces  a  further  complication 
nto  the  conscience.  Self-judgment  in  the 
name  of  the  tribe  becomes  associated 
with  very  definite  and  material  judgment 
Dy  the  tribe  itself.  On  the  one  hand,  this 
undoubtedly  strengthens  the  motive- 
power  of  conscience  in  an  enormous 
degree.  On  the  other  hand,  it  tends  to 
guide  the  decisions  of  conscience  ;  and 
since  the  expression  of  public  approval  or 
disapproval  is  made  in  general  by  means 
of  some  organized  machinery  of  govern- 
ment, it  becomes  possible  for  conscience 
to  be  knowingly  directed  by  the  wise  or 
misdirected  by  the  wicked,  instead  of  be- 
ing driven  along  the  right  path  by  the 
slow  selective  process  of  experience. 
Now  right  actions  are  not  those  which 
are  publicly  approved,  but  those  whose 
public  approbation  a  well-instructed 
tribal  self  would  like.  Still,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  avoid  the  guiding  influence  of  ex- 
pressed approbation  on  the  great  mass  of 
the  people ;  and  in  those  cases  where  the 
machinery  of  government  is  approxi- 
mately a  means  of  expressing  the  true 
public  conscience,  that  influence  becomes 
a  most  powerful  help  to  improvement. ._ 

Let  us  note  now  the  very  important  dif- 
ference between  the  direct  and  the  reflex 
process.  To  clear  a  man  away  as  a  nox- 
ious beast,  and  to  punish  him  for  doing 
wrong,  these  are  two  very  different  things. 
The  purpose  in  the  first  case  is  merely  to 
get  rid  of  a  nuisance  ;  the  purpose  in  the 
second  case  is  to  improve  the  character 
either  of  the  man  himself  or  of  those  who 
will  observe  this  public  expression  of  dis- 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[2951      -5 


approbation.  The  offense  of  which  the 
man  has  been  guilty  leads  to  an  inference 
about  his  character,  and  it  is  supposed 
that  the  community  may  contain  other 
persons  whose  characters  are  similar  to 
his,  or  tend  to  become  so.  It  has  been 
found  that  the  expression  of  public  disap- 
probation tends  to  awake  the  conscience 
of  such  people  and  to  improve  their  char- 
acters. If  the  improvement  of  the  man 
himself  is  aimed  at,  it  is  assumed  that  he 
has  a  conscience  which  can  be  worked 
upon  and  made  to  deter  him  from  similar 
offenses  in  future. 

The  word  purpose  has  here  been  used 
in  a  sense  to  which  it  is  perhaps  worth 
while  to  call  attention.  Adaptation  of 
means  to  an  end  may  be  produced  in 
two  ways  that  we  at  present  know  of; 
by  processes  of  natural  selection,  and  by 
the  agency  of  an  intelligence  in  which 
an  image  or  idea  of  the  end  preceded 
the  use  of  the  means.  In  both  cases  the 
existence  of  the  adaptation  is  accounted 
for  by  the  necessity  or  utility  of  the  end. 
It  seems  to  me  convenient  to  use  the 
word  purpose  as  meaning  generally  the 
end  to  which  certain  means  are  adapted, 
both  in  these  two  cases,  and  in  any  other 
that  may  hereafter  become  known,  pro- 
vided only  that  the  adaptation  is  ac- 
counted for  by  the  necessity  or  utility  of 
the  end.  And  there  seems  no  objection 
to  the  use  of  the  phrase '  final  cause '  in  this 
wider  sense,  if  it  is  to  be  kept. at  all.  The 
word  '  design  '  might  then  be  kept  for  the 
special  case  of  adaptation  by  an  intelli- 
gence. And  we  may  then  say  that  since 
the  process  of  natural  selection  has  been 
understood,  purpose  has  ceased  to  sug- 
gest design  to  instructed  people,  ex- 
cept in  cases  where  the  agency  of  man 
is  independently  probable. 

When  a  man  can  be  punished  for  do- 
ing wrong  with  approval  of  the  tribal 
self,  he  is  said  to  be  responsible.  Re- 
sponsibility implies  two  things  : — (i)  The 
act  was  a  product  of  the  man's  character 
and  of  the  circumstances,  and  his  char- 
acter may  to  a  certain  extent  be  inferred 
from  the  act;  (2)  The  man  had  a  con- 
science which  might  have  been  so  worked 
upon  as  to  prevent  his  doing  the  act. 
Unless  the  first  condition  be  fulfilled,  we 
cannot  reasonably  take  any  action  at  all 
in  regard  to  the  man,  but  only  in  regard 
to  the  offense.  In  the  case  of  crimes  of 
violence,  for  example,  we  might  carry  a 
six-shooter  to  protect  ourselves  against 
similar  possibilities,  but  unless  the  fact  of 
a  man's  having  once  committed  a  murder 
made  it  probable  that  he  would  do  the 


ike  again,  it  would  clearly  be  absurd  and 
unreasonable  to  lynch  the  man.  That 
is  to  say,  we  assume  an  uniformity  of 
connection  between  character  and  actions, 
nfer  a  man's  character  from  his  past  ac- 
tions, and  endeavor  to  provide  against 
lis  future  actions  either  by  destroying 
lim  or  by  changing  his  character.  I 
think  it  will  be  found  that  in  all  those 
cases  where  we  not  only  deal  with  the 
offense  but  treat  it  with  moral  reproba- 
tion, we  imply  the  existence  of  a  con- 
science which  might  have  been  worked 
upon  to  improve  the  character.  Why, 
for  example,  do  we  not  regard  a  lunatic 
as  responsible  ?  Because  we  are  in  pos- 
session of  information  about  his  character 
derived  not  only  from  his  one  offense  but 
from  other  facts,  whereby  we  know  that 
even  if  he  had  a  conscience  left,  his  mind 
is  so  diseased  that  it  is  impossible  by 
moral  reprobation  alone  to  change  his 
character  so  that  it  may  be  subsequently 
relied  upon.  With  his  cure  from  disease, 
and  the  restored  validity  of  this  condi-. 
tion,  responsibility  returns.  There  are, 
of  course,  cases  in  which  an.  irresponsible 
person  is  punished  as  if  he  were  respon^ 
sible,  pour  encourager  les  autres  who 
are  responsible.  The  question  of  the 
right  or  wrong  of  this  procedure,  is  tfre 
question  of  its  average  effect  on  the  char- 
acter of  men  at  any  particular  time.. 

The  Categorical Imperative— -May  we 
now  say  that  the  maxims  of  Ethic  are 
hypothetical  maxims?  I  think  we  may, 
and  that  in  showing  why  we  shall  ex-r 
plain  the  apparent  difference  between 
them  and  other  maxims  belonging  to  an 
early  stage  of  science.  In  the  first  place 
ethical  maxims  are  learned  by  the  tribe 
and  not  by  the  individual.  Those  tribes 
have  on  the  whole  survived  in  which  cor>r 
science  approved  such  actions  as  tended 
to  the  improvement  of  men's  characters 
as  citizens  and  therefore  to  the  survival 
of  the  tribe.  Hence  it  is  that  the  moral 
sense  of  the  individual,  though  founded 
on  the  experience  of  the  tribe,  is  purely 
intuitive ;  conscience  gives  no  reasons. 
Notwithstanding  this,  the  ethical  maxims 
are  presented  to  us  as  conditional ;  if  you 
want  to  live  together  in  this  complicated 
way,  your  ways  must  be  straight  and  not 
crooked,  you  must  seek  the  truth  and  love 
no  lie.  Suppose  we  answer, '  I  don't  want 
to  live  together  with  other  men  in  this 
complicated  way ;  and  so  I  shall  not  4o 
as  you  tell  me.'  That  is  not  the  end  of 
the  matter,  as  it  might  be  with  other  sci- 
entific precepts.  For  obvious  reasons  it 
is  right  in  this  case  to  reply,  '  Then  in 


[206] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


the  name  of  my  people  I  do  not  like  you,' 
and  to  express'  this  dislike  by  appropriate 
methods.  And  the  offender,  being  de- 
scended from  a  social  race,  is  unable  to 
escape  his  conscience,  the  voice  of  his 
tribal  self  which  says,  '  In  the  name  of 
the  tribe,  I  hate  myself  for  this  treason 
that  I  have  done.' 

There  are  two  reasons,  then,  why  eth- 
ical maxims  appear  to  be  unconditional. 
First,  they  are  acquired  from  experience 
not  directly  but  by  tribal  selection,  and 
therefore  in  the  mind  of  the  individual 
they  do  not  rest  upon  the  true  reasons  for 
them.  Secondly,  although  they  are  con- 
ditional, the  absence  of  the  condition  in 
one  born  of  a  social  race  is  rightly  visited 
by  moral  reprobation^ 

Ethics  arc  based  on  Uniformity. — I 
have  already  observed  that  to  deal  with 
men  as  a  means  of  influencing  their  ac- 
tions implies  that  these  actions  are  a  prod- 
uct of  character  and  circumstances ;  and 
that  moral  reprobation  and  responsibility 
cannot  exist  unless  we  assume  the  effi- 
cacy of  certain  special  means  of  influenc- 
ing character.  It  is  not  necessary  to  point 
out  that  such  considerations  involve  that 
uniformity  of  nature  which  underlies  the 
possibility  of  even  unconscious  adapta- 
tions  to  experience,  of  language,  and  of 
general  conceptions  and  statements.  It 
may  be  asked,  'Are  you  quite  sure  that 
these  observed  uniformities  between  mo- 
tive and  action,  between  character  and 
motive,  between  social  influence  and 
change  of  character,  are  absolutely  ex- 
act in  the  form  in  which  you  state  them, 
or  indeed  that  they  are  exact  laws  of 
any  form  ?  May  there  not  be  very  slight 
divergences  from  exact  laws,  which  will 
allow  of  the  action  of  an  "  uncaused  will," 
or  of  the  interference  of  some  "  extra- 
mundane  force  "  ?  '  I  am  sure  I  do  not 
know.  But  this  I  do  know:  that  our 
sense  of  right  and  wrong  is  derived  from 
such  order  as  we  can  observe,  and  not 
from  such  caprice  of  disorder  as  we  may 
fancifully  conjecture;  and  that  to  what- 
ever extent  a  divergence  from  exactness 
became  sensible,  to  that  extent  it  would 
destroy  the  most  widespread  and  worthy 
of  the  acquisitions  of  mankind. 

The  Final  Standard. — By  these  views 
we  are  led  to  conclusions  partly  negative, 
partly  positive ;  of  which,  as  might  be 
expected,  the  negative  are  the  most  defi- 
nite. 

First,  then,  Ethic  is  a  matter  of  the 
tribe  or  community,  and  therefore  there 
are  no  '  self-regarding  virtues.'  The 
qualities  of  courage,  prudence,  etc.,  can 


only  be  rightly  encouraged  in  so  far  as 
they  are  shown  to  conduce  to  the  effi- 
ciency of  a  citizen ;  that  is,  in  so  far  as 
they  cease  to  be  self-regarding.  The 
duty  of  private  judgment,  of  searching 
after  truth,  the  sacredness  of  belief  which 
ought  not  to  be  misused  on  unproved 
statements,  follow  only  on  showing  of 
the  enormous  importance  to  society  of  a 
true  knowledge  of  things.  And  any  di- 
version of  conscience  from  its  sole  alle- 
giance to  the  community  is  condemned 
a  priori  in  the  very  nature  of  right  and 
wrong. 

Next,  the  end  of  Ethic  is  not  the 
greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest 
number.  Your  happiness  is  of  no  use  to 
the  community,  except  in  so  far  as  it 
tends  to  make  you  a  more  efficient  citizen 
— that  is  to  say,  happiness  is  not  to  be 
desired  for  its  own  sake,  but  for  the  sake 
of  something  else.  If  any  end  is  pointed 
to,  it  is  the  end  of  increased  efficiency  in 
each  man's  special  work,  as  well  as  in  the 
social  functions  which  are  common  to  all. 
A  man  must  strive  to  be  a  better  citizen, 
a  better  workman,  a  better  son,  husband, 
or  father. 

Again,  Piety  is  not  Altruism.  It  is  not 
the  doing  good  to  others  as  others,  but 
the  service  of  the  community  by  a  mem- 
ber of  it,  who  loses  in  that  service  the 
consciousness  that  he  is  anything  differ- 
ent from  the  community. 

The  social  organism,  like  the  individual, 
may  be  healthy  or  diseased.  Health  and 
disease  are  very  difficult  things  to  define 
accurately:  but  for  practical  purposes, 
there  are  certain  states  about  which  no 
mistake  can  be  made.  When  we  have 
even  a  very  imperfect  catalogue  and  de- 
scription of  states  that  are  clearly  and 
certainly  diseases,  we  may  form  a  rough 
preliminary  definition  of  health  by  saying 
that  it  means  the  absence  of  all  these 
states.  Now  the  health  of  society  in- 
volves among  other  things,  that  right  is 
done  by  the  individuals  composing  it. 
And  certain  social  diseases  consist  in  a 
wrong  direction  of  the  conscience. 
Hence  the  determination  of  abstract 
right  depends  on  the  study  of  healthy 
and  diseased  states  of  society.  How 
much  light  can  be  got  for  this  end  from 
the  historical  records  we  possess?  A 
very  great  deal,  if,  as  I  believe,  for  eth- 
ical purposes  the  nature  of  man  and  of 
society  may  be  taken  as  approximately 
constant  during  the  few  thousand  years 
of  which  we  have  distinct  records. 

The  matters  of  fact  on  which  rational 
ethic  must  be  founded  are  the  laws  of 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[297]      7 


modification  of  character,  and  the  evi- 
dence of  history  as  to  those  kinds  of 
character  which  have  most  aided  the  im- 
provement of  the  race.  For  although 
the  moral  sense  is  intuitive,  it  must  for 
the  future  be  directed  by  our  conscious 
discovery  of  the  tribal  purpose  which  it 
serves. 

II.  RIGHT  AND  WRONG: 

THE  SCIENTIFIC    GROUND  OF  THEIR 
DISTINCTION.* 

THE  questions  which  are  here  to  be 
considered  are  especially  and  peculiarly 
everybody's  questions.  It  is  not  every- 
body's business  to  be  an  engineer,  or  a 
doctor,  or  a  carpenter,  or  a  soldier ;  but 
it  is  everybody's  business  to  be  a  citizen. 
The  doctrines  and  precepts  which  guide 
the  practice  of  the  good  engineer  are  of 
interest  to  him  who  uses  them  and  to 
those  whose  business  it  is  to  investigate 
them  by  mechanical  science ;  the  rest  of 
us  neither  obey  nor  disobey  them.  But 
the  doctrines  and  precepts  of  morality, 
which  guide  the  practice  of  the  good  citi- 
zen, are  of  interest  to  all ;  they  must  be 
either  obeyed  or  disobeyed  by  every  hu- 
man being  who  is  not  hopelessly  and  for- 
ever separated  from  the  rest  of  mankind. 
No  one  can  say,  therefore,  that  in  this 
inquiry  we  are  not  minding  our  own  busi- 
ness, that  we  are  meddling  with  other 
men's  affairs.  We  are  in  fact  studying 
the  principles  of  our  profession,  so  far  as 
we  are  able  ;  a  necessary  thing  for  every 
man  who  wishes  to  do  good  work  in  it. 

Along  with  the  character  of  universal 
•interest  which  belongs  to  our  subject 
there  goes  another.  What  is  everybody's 
practical  business  is  also  to  a  large  extent 
what  everybody  knows  ;  and  it  may  be 
reasonably  expected  that  a  discourse 
about  Right  and  Wrong  \vill  be  full  of 
platitudes  and  truisms.  The  expectation 
is  a  just  one.  The  considerations  I  have 
to  offer  are  of  the  very  oldest  and  the 
very  simplest  commonplace  and  common 
sense ;  and  no  one  can  be  more  aston- 
ished than  I  am  that  there  should  be  any 
reason  to  speak  of  them  at  all.  But  there 
is  reason  to  speak  of  them,  because  plati- 
tudes are  not  all  of  one  kind.  Some  plati- 
tudes have  a  definite  meaning  and  a  prac- 
tical application,  and  are  established  by 
the  uniform  and  long-continued  experi- 
ence of  all  people.  Other  platitudes, 
having  no  definite  meaning  and  no  practi- 
cal application,  seem  not  to  be  worth  any- 


*  Sunday  Lecture  Society,  November  7,  1875. 


body's  while  to  test ;  and  these  are  quite 
sufficiently  established  by  mere  assertion, 
if  it  is  audacious  enough  to  begin  with 
and  persistent  enough  afterward.  It  is 
in  order  to  distinguish  these  two  kinds  of 
platitude  from  one  another,  and  to  make 
sure  that  those  which  we  retain  form  a 
body  of  doctrine  consistent  with  itself 
and  with -the  rest  of  our  beliefs,  that  we 
undertake  this  examination  of  obvious 
and  widespread  principles. 

First  of  all,  then,  what  are  the  facts  ? 

We  say  that  it  is  wrong  to  murder,  to 
steal,  to  tell  lies,  and  that  it  is  right  to 
take  care  of  our  families.  When  we  say 
in  this  sense  that  one  action  is  right  ancl 
another  wrong",  we  have  a  certain  feeling 
toward  the  action  which  is  peculiar  and 
not  quite  like  any  other  feeling.  It  is. 
clearly  a  feeling  toward  the  action  and 
not  toward  the  man  who  does  it ;  be- 
cause we  speak  of  hating  the  sin  and  lov- 
ing the  sinner.  We  might  reasonably 
dislike  a  man  whom  we  knew  or  sus- 
pected to  be  a  murderer,  because  of  the- 
natural  fear  that  he  might  murder  us  p: 
and  we  might  like  our  own  parents  for" 
taking  care  of  us.  But  everybody  knows 
that  these  feelings  are  something-  quite; 
different  from  the  feeling  which  con- 
demns murder  as  a  wrong  thing,  and  ap-- 
proves  parental  care  as  a  right  thing.  I 
say  nothing  here  about  the  -possibility  of 
analyzing  this  feeling,  or  proving  that  it  , 
arises  by  combination  of  other  feelings; 
all  I  want  to  notice  is  that  it  is  as  distinct, 
and  recognizable  as  the  feeling  of  pleas- 
ure in  a  sweet  taste  or  of  displeasure  at 
a  toothache.  In  speaking  of  right  and* 
wrong,  we  speak  of  qualities  of  action 
which  arouse  definite  feelings  that  every-- 
body  knows  and  recognizes.  It  is  not 
necessary,  then,  to  give  a  definition  at  the 
outset ;  we  are  going  to  use  familiar  terms- 
which  have  a  definite  meaning  in  the 
same  sense  in  which  everybody  uses 
them.  We  may  ultimately  come  to< 
something  like  a  definition  ;  but  what  we 
have  to  do  first  is  to  collect  the  facts  and 
see  what  can  be  made  of  them,  just  as  if : 
we  were  going  to  talk  about  limestone,  or 
parents  and  children,  or  fuel. 

It  is  easy  to  conceive  that  murder  and 
theft  and  neglect  of  the  young  might  be 
considered  wrong  in  a  very  simple  state 
of  society.  But  we  find  at  present  that 
the  condemnation  of  these  actions  does 
not  stand  alone ;  it  goes  with  the  con- 
demnation of  a  great  number  of  other  ac- 
tions which  seem  to  be  included  with  th« 
obviously  criminal  action  in  a  sort  of  gen- 
eral rule.  The  wrongness  of  murder,  for 


[298] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


example,  belongs  in  a  less  degree  to  any 
form  of  bodily  injury  that  one  man  may 
inflict  on  another ;  and  it  is  even  extended 
so  as  to  include  injuries  to  his  reputation 
or  his  feelings.  I  make  these  more  re- 
fined precepts  follow  in  the  train  of  the 
more  obvious  and  rough  ones,  because 
this  appears  to  have  been  the  traditional 
order  of  their  establishment.  '  He  that 
makes  his  neighbor  blush  in  public,'  says 
the  Mishna,  '  is  as  if  he  had  shed  his 
blood.'  In  the  same  way  the  rough  con- 
demnation of  stealing  carries  with  it  a 
condemnation  of  more  refined  forms  of 
dishonesty  :  we  do  not  hesitate  to  say 
that  it  is  wrong  for  a  tradesman  to  adul- 
terate his  goods,  or  for  a  laborer  to 
scamp  his  work.  We  not  only  say  that 
it  is  wrong  to  tell  lies,  but  that  it  is  wrong 
to  deceive  in  other  more  ingenious  ways ; 
wrong  to  use  words  so  that  they  shall 
have  one  sense  to  some  people  and 
another  sense  to  other  people ;  wrong  to 
suppress  the  truth  when  that  suppression 
leads  to  false  belief  in  others.  And 
again,  the  duty  of  parents  toward  their 
children  is  seen  to  be  a  special  case  of  a 
very  large  and  varied  class  of  duties  to- 
ward that  great  family  to  which  we  be- 
long— to  the  fatherland  and  them  that 
dwell  therein.  The  word  duty  which  I 
have  here  used,  has  as  definite  a  sense  to 
the  general  mind  as  the  words  right  and 
wrong  ;  we  say  that  it  is  right  to  do  our 
duty,  and  wrong  to  neglect  it.  These 
duties  to  the  community  serve  in  our 
minds  to  explain  and  define  our  duties  to 
individuals.  It  is  wrong  to  kill  any  one ; 
unless  we  are  an  executioner,  when  it  may 
be  our  duty  to  kill  a  criminal ;  or  a  sol- 
dier, when  it  may  be  our  duty  to  kill  the 
enemy  of  our  country ;  and  in  general  it 
is  wrong  to  injure  any  man  in  any  way  in 
our  private  capacity  and  for  our  own 
sakes.  Thus  if  a  man  injures  us,  it  is 
only  right  to  retaliate  on  behalf  of  other 
men.  Of  two  men  in  a  desert  island,  if 
one  takes  away  the  other's  cloak,  it  may 
or  may  not  be  right  for  the  other  to  let 
him  have  his  coat  also  ;  but  if  a  man 
takes  away  my  cloak  while  we  both  live 
in  society,  it  is  my  duty  to  use  such 
means  as  I  can  to  prevent  him  from  tak- 
ing away  other  people's  cloaks.  Observe 
that  I  am  endeavoring  to  describe  the 
facts  of  the  moral  feelings  of  Englishmen, 
such  as  they  are  now. 

The  last  remark  leads  us  to  another 
platitude  of  exceedingly  ancient  date. 
We  said  that  it  was  wrong  to  injure  any 
man  in  our  private  capacity  and.  for  our 
own  sakes.  A  rule  like  this  differs  from 


all  the  others  that  we  have  considered, 
because  it  not  only  deal-  with  physical 
acts,  words  and  deeds  which  can  be  ob- 
served and  known  by  others,  but  also 
with  thoughts  which  are  known  only  to 
the  man  himself.  Who  can  tell  whether 
a  given  act  of  punishment  was  done  from 
a  private  or  from  a  public  motive  ?  Only 
the  agent  himself.  And  yet  if  the  pun- 
ishment was  just  and  within  the  law,  w« 
should  condemn  the  man  in  the  one  case 
and  approve  him  in  the  other.  This  pur- 
suit of  the  actions  of  men  to  their  very 
sources,  in  the  feelings  which  they  only 
can  know,  is  as  ancient  as  any  morality 
we  know  of,  and  extends  to  the  whole 
range  of  it.  Injury  to  another  man  arises 
from  anger,  malice,  hatred,  revenge ; 
these  feelings  are  condemned  as  wrong. 
But  feelings  are  not  immediately  under 
our  control,  in  the  same  way  that  overt 
actions  are  :  I  can  shake  anybody  by  the 
hand  if  I  like,  but  I  cannot  always  feel 
friendly  to  him.  Nevertheless  we  can 
pay  attention  to  such  aspects  of  the  cir- 
cumstances, and  we  can  put  ourselves 
into  such  conditions,  that  our  feelings  get 
gradually  modified  in  one  way  or  the 
other;  we  form  a  habit  of  checking  our 
anger  by  calling  up  certain  images  and 
considerations,  whereby  in  time  the  of- 
fending passion  is  brought  into  subjection 
and  control.  Accordingly  we  say  that  it 
is  right  to  acquire  and  to  exercise  this 
control;  and  the  control  is  supposed  to 
exist  whenever  we  say  that  one  feeling  or 
disposition  of  mind  is  right  and  another 
wrong.  Thus,  in  connection  with  the 
precept  against  stealing,  we  condemn 
envy  and  covetousness ;  we  applaud  a 
sensitive  honesty  which  shudders  at  any- 
thing underhand  or  dishonorable.  In 
connection  with  the  rough  precept  against 
lying,  we  have  built  up  and  are  still 
building  a  great  fabric  of  intellectual  mor- 
ality, whereby  a  man  is  forbidden  to  tell 
lies  to  himself,  and  is  commanded  to 
practice  candor  and  fairness  and  open- 
mindedness  in  his  judgments,  and  to  la- 
bor zealously  in  pursuit  of  the  truth. 
In  connection  with  the  duty  to  our  fami- 
lies, we  say  that  it  is  right  to  cultivate  pub- 
lic spirit,  a  quick  sense  of  sympathy,  and 
all  that  belongs  to  a  social  disposition. 

Two  other  words  are  used  in  this  con- 
nection which  it  seems  necessary  to  men- 
tion. When  we  regard  an  action  as 
right  or  wrong  for  ourselves,  this  feeling 
about  the  action  impels  us  to  do  it  or  not 
to  do  it,  as  the  case  may  be.  We  may 
say  that  the  moral  sense  acts  in  this  case 
as  a  motive;  meaning  by  moral  sense 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[299] 


Offly  the  feeling  in  regard  to  an  action 
which  is  considered  as  right  or  wrong, 
and  by  motive  something  which  impels 
us  to  act.  Of  course  there  may  be  other 
motives  at  work  at  the  same  time,  and  it 
does  not  at  all  follow  that  we  shall  do  the 
right  action  or  abstain  from  the  wrong 
one.  This  we  all  know  to  our  cost.  But 
still  our  feeling  about  the  Tightness  or 
wrongness  of  an  action  does  operate  as  a 
motive  when  we  think  of  the  action  as 
being  done  by  us ;  and  when  so  operat- 
ing it  is  called  conscience.  I  have  noth- 
ing to  do  at  present  with  the  questions 
about  conscience,  whether  it  is  a  result 
of  education,  whether  it  can  be  explained 
by  self-love,  and  so  forth  ;  I  am  only  con- 
cerned in  describing  well-known  facts, 
and  in  getting  as  clear  as  I  can  about 
the  meaning  of  well-known  words.  Con- 
science, then,  is  the  whole  aggregate  of 
our  feelings  about  actions  as  being  right 
or  wrong,  regarded  as  tending  to  make 
us  do  the  right  actions  and  avoid  the 
wrong  ones.  We  also  say  sometimes, 
in  answer  to  the  question,  '  How  do  you 
know  that  this  is  right  or  wrong  ?  '  '  My 
conscience  tells  me  so.'  And  this  way  of 
speaking  is  quite  analogous  to  other  ex- 
pressions of  the  same  form  ;  thus  if  I  put 
my  hand  into  water,  and  you  ask  me  how 
I  know  that  it  is  hot,  I  might  say,  '  My 
feeling  of  warmth  tells  me  so.' 

When  we  consider  a  right  or  a  wrong 
action  as  done  by  another  person,  we 
think  of  that  person  as  worthy  of  moral 
approbation  or  reprobation.  He  may  be 
punished  or  not ;  but  in  any  case  this 
feeling  toward  him  is  quite  different 
from  "the.  feeling  of  dislike  toward  a  per- 
son injurious  to  us,  or  of  disappointment 
at  a  machine  which  will  not  go. 

Whenever  we  can  morally  approve  or 
disapprove  a  man  for  his  action,  we  say 
that  he  is  morally  responsible  for  it,  and 
vice  versd.  To  say  that  a  man  is  not 
morally  responsible  for  his  actions  is  the 
same  thing  as  to  say  that  it  would  be  un- 
reasonable to  praise  or  blame  him  for 
them. 

The  statement  that  we  ourselves  are 
morally  responsible  is  somewhat  more 
complicated,  but  the  meaning  is  very 
easily  made  out ;  namely,  that  another 
person  may  reasonably  regard  our  ac- 
tions as  right  or  wrong,  and  may  praise  or 
blame  us  for  them. 

We  can  now,  I  suppose,  understand 
one  another  pretty  clearly  in  using  the 
words  right  and  wrong,  conscience,  re- 
sponsibility ;  and  we  have  made  a  rapid 
survey  of  the  facts  of  the  case  in  our  own 


country  at  the  present  time.  Of  course 
I  do  not  pretend  that  this  survey  in  any 
way  approaches  to  completeness ;  but  it 
will  supply  us  at  least  with  enough  facts 
to  enable  us  to  deal  always  with  concrete 
examples  instead  of  remaining  in  generali- 
ties ;  and  it  may  serve  to  show  pretty 
fairly  what  the  moral  sense  of  an  English- 
man is  like.  We  must  next  consider 
what  account  we  can  give  of  these  facts 
by  the  scientific  method. 

But  first  let  us  stop  to  note  that  we 
really  have  used  the  scientific  method  in 
making  this  first  step ;  and  also  that  to 
the  same  extent  the  method  has  been 
used  by  all  serious  moralists.  Some 
would  have  us  define  virtue,  to  begin 
with,  in  terms  of  some  other  thing  which 
is  not  virtue,  and  then  work  out  from  our 
definition  all  the  details  of  what  we 
ought  to  do.  So  Plato  said  that  virtue 
was  knowledge,  Aristotle  that  it  was  the 
golden  mean,  and  Bentham  said  that  the 
right  action  was  that  which  conduced  to 
the  greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest 
number.  But  so  also,  in  physical  specu- 
lations, Thales  said  that  everything  was 
Water,  and  Heraclitus  said  it  was  All- 
becoming,  and  Empedocles  said  it  was 
made  out  of  Four  Elements,  and  Pytha- 
goras said  it  was  Number.  But  we  only 
began  to  know  about  things  when  people 
looked  straight  at  the  facts,  and  made 
what  they  could  out  of  them ;  and  that 
is  the  only  way  in  which  we  can  know 
anything  about  right  and  wrong.  More- 
over, it  is  the  way  in  which  the  great 
moralists  have  set  to  work,  when  they 
came  to  treat  of  verifiable  things  and  not 
of  theories  ail  in  the  air.  A  great  many 
people  think  of  a  prophet  as  a  man  who, 
all  by  himself,  or  from  some  secret 
source,  gets  the  belief  that  this  thing  is 
right  and  that  thing  wrong.  And  then 
(they  imagine)  he  gets  up  and  goes  about 
persuading  other  people  to  feel  as  he 
does  about  it ;  and  so  it  becomes  a  part 
of  their  conscience,  and  a  new  duty  is 
created.  This  may  be  in  some  cases, 
but  I  have  never  met  with  any  example 
of  it  in  history.  When  Socrates  puzzled 
the  Greeks  by  asking  them  what  they 
precisely  meant  by  Goodness  and  Justice 
and  Virtue,  the  mere  existence  of  the 
words  shows  that  the  people,  as  a  whole, 
possessed  a  moral  sense,  and  felt  that 
certain  things  were  right  and  others 
wrong.  What  the  moralist  did  was  to 
show  the  connection  between  different 
virtues,  the  likeness  of  virtue  to  certain 
other  things,  the  implications  which  a 
thoughtful  man  could  find  in  the  common 


[300] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


language.  Wherever  the  Greek  moral 
sense  had  come  from,  it  was  there  in  the 
people  before  it  could  be  enforced  by  a 
prophet  or  discussed  by  a  philosopher. 
Again,  we  find  a  wonderful  collection  of 
moral  aphorisms  in  those  shrewd  sayings 
of  the  Jewish  fathers  which  are  preserved 
in  the  Mishna  or  oral  law.  Some  of  this 
teaching  is  familiar  to  us  all  from  the 
popular  exposition  of  it  which  is  contained 
in  the  three  first  Gospels.  But  the  very 
plainness  and  homeliness  of  the  precepts 
shows  that  they  are  just  acute  state- 
ments of  what  was  already  felt  by  the 
popular  common  sense;  protesting,  in 
many  cases,  against  the  formalism  of  the 
ceremonial  law  with  which  they  are 
curiously  mixed  up.  The  Rabbis  even 
show  a  jealousy  of  prophetic  interference, 
as  if  they  knew  well  that  it  takes  not  one 
man,  but  many  men,  to  feel  what  is  right. 
When  a  certain  Rabbi  Eliezer,  being 
worsted  in  argument,  cried  out,  '  If  I  am 
right,  let  heaven  pronounce  in  my  favor ! ' 
there  was  heard  a  Bath-kol  or  voice  from 
the  skies,  saying,  '  Do  you  venture  to  dis- 
pute with  Rabbi  Eliezer,  who  is  an  au- 
thority on  all  religious  questions  ?  '  But 
Rabbi  Joshua  rose  and  said,  '  Our  law  is 
not  in  heaven,  but  in  the  book  which 
dates  from  Sinai,  and  which  teaches  us 
that  in  matters  of  discussion  the  ma- 
jority makes  the  law.'  * 

One  of  the  most  important  expressions 
of  the  moral  sense  for  all  time  is  that  of 
the  Stoic  philosophy,  especially  after  its 
reception  among  the  Romans.  It  is  here 
that  we  find  the  enthusiasm 'of  humanity 
— the  carttas  generis  humani — which  is 
so  large  and  important  a  feature  in  all 
modern  conceptions  *  of  morality,  and 
whose  widespread  influence  upon  Roman 
citizens  may  be  traced  in  the  Epistles  of 
St.  Paul.  In  the  Stoic  emperors,  also, 
we  find  probably  the  earliest  example  of 
great  moral  principles  consciously  applied 
to  legislation  on  a  large  scale.  But  are 
we  to  attribute  this  to  the  individual  in- 
sight of  the  Stoic  philosophers  ?  It 
might  seem  at  first  sight  that  we  must,  if 
we  are  to  listen  to  that  vulgar  vitupera- 
tion of  the  older  culture  which  has  de- 
scended to  us  from  those  who  had  every- 
thing to  gain  by  its  destruction.!  We 


*  Treatise  Baba  Bathra,  59  b. 

t  Compare  these  passages  from  Merivale  ('  Ro- 
mans under  the  Empire,'  vi.),  to  whom  '  it  seems 
a  duty  to  protest  against  the  common  tendency  ol 
Christian  moralists  to  dwell  only  on  the  dark  side 
of  Pagan  society,  in  order  to  heighten  by  contrast 
the  blessings  of  the  Gospel  '  : — 

'  Much  candor  and  discrimination  are  required 
in  comparing  the  sins  of  one  age  with  those  oi 
(mother  ...  the  cruelty  of  our  inquisitions 


iear  enough  of  the  luxurious  feasting  of 
;he  Roman  capital,  how  it  would  almost 
lave  taxed  the  resources  of  a  modern 
pastry-cook ;  of  the  cruelty  of  gladiatorial 
shows,  how  they  were  nearly  as  bad  as 
autos-da-ft,  except  that  a  man  had  his 
fair  chance  and  was  not  tortured  for  tort- 
ure's sake ;  of  the  oppression  of  provincials 
by  people  like  Verres,  of  whom  it  may 
ven  be  said  that  if  they  had  been  the 
East  India  Company  they  could  not  have 
been  worse  ;  of  the  complaints  of  Tacitus 
against  bad  and  mad  emperors  (as  Sir 
Henry  Maine  says);  and  of  the  still  more 
serious  complaints  of  the  modern  histo- 
rian against  the  excessive  taxation* 
which  was  one  great  cause  of  the  fall  of 
the  empire.  Of  all  this  we  are  told  a 
great  deal ;  but  we  are  not  told  of  the 
many  thousands  of  honorable  men  who 
carried  civilization  to  the  ends  of  the 
known  world,  and  administered  a  mighty 
empire  so  that  it  was  loved  and  worship- 
ed to  the  furthest  corner  of  it.  It  is  to 
these  men  and  their  common  action  that 
we  must  attribute  the  morality  which 
found  its  organized  expression  in  the 
writings  of  the  Stoic  philosophers.  From 
these  three  cases  we  may  gather  that 
Right  is  a  thing  which  must  be  done  be- 
fore it  can  be  talked  about,  although  aft- 
er that  it  may  only  too  easily  be  talked 
about  without  being  done.  Individual 
effort  and  energy  may  insist  upon  getting 
that  done  which  was  already  felt  to  be 
right ;  and  individual  insight  and  acumen 
may  point  out  consequences  of  an  action 
which  bring  it  under  previously  known 


and  sectarian  persecutions,  of  our  laws  against  sor- 
cery, our  serfdom  and  our  slavery ;  the  petty 
fraudulence  we  tolerate  in  almost  every  class  and 
calling  of  the  community  ;  the  bold  front  worn 
by  our  open  sensuality  ;  the  deeper  degradation  of 
that  which  is  concealed  ;  all  these  leave  us  little 
room  for  boasting  of  our  modern  discipline,  and 
must  deter  the  thoughtful  inquirer  from  too  confi- 
dently contrasting  the  morals  of  the  old  world  and 
the  new.' 

k  Even  at  Rome,  in  the  worst  of  times  .  .  . 
all  the  relations  of  life  were  adorned  in  turn  with 
bright  instances  of  devotion,  and  mankind  trans- 
acted their  business  with  an  ordinary  confidence  in 
the  force  of  conscience  and  right  reason.  The 
steady  development  of  enlightened  legal  principles 
conclusively  proves  the  general  dependence  upon 
law  as  a  guide  and  corrector  of  manners.  In  the 
camp,  however,  more  especially,  as  the  chief  sphere 
of  this  purifying  activity,  the  great  qualities  of  the 
Roman  character  continued  to  be  plainly  manifest- 
ed. This  history  of  the  Caesars  presents  to  us  a 
constant  succession  of  brave,  patient,  resolute,  and 
faithful  soldiers,  men  deeply  impressed  with  a 
sense  of  duty,  superior  to  vanity,  despisers  of  boast- 
ing, content  to  toil  in  obscurity  and  shed  their 
blood  at  the  frontiers  of  the  empire,  unrepining  at 
the  cold  mistrust  of  their  masters,  not  clamorous 
for  the  honors  so  sparingly  awarded  to  them,  but 
satisfied  in  the  daily  work  of  their  hands,  and  full 
of  faith  in  the  national  destiny  which  they  were 
daily  accomplishing.' 

*  Finlay, '  Greece  under  the  Romans/ 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[301]    11 


moral  rules.  There  is  another  dispute 
of  the  Rabbis  that  may  serve  to  show 
what  is  meant  by  this.  It  was  forbidden 
by  the  law  to  have  any  dealings  with  the 
Sabaean  idolaters  during  the  week  preced- 
ing their  idolatrous  feasts.  But  the  doc- 
tors discussed  the  case  in  which  one  of 
these  idolaters  owes  you  a  bill ;  are  you 
to  let  him  pay  it  during  that  week  or  not? 
The  school  of  Shammai  said  '  No ;  for 
he  will  want  all  his  money  to  enjoy  him- 
self at  the  feast.'  But  the  school  of  Hil- 
lel  said,  '  Yes,  let  him  pay  it ;  for  how 
can  he  enjoy  his  feast  while  his  bills  are 
unpaid  ?  '  The  question  here  is  about 
the  consequences  of  an  action  ;  but  there 
is  no  dispute  about  the  moral  principle, 
which  is  that  consideration  and  kindness 
are  to  be  shown  to  idolaters,  even  in  the 
matter  of  their  idolatrous  rites. 

It  seems,  then,  that  we  are  no  worse  off 
than  anybody  else  who  has  studied  this 
subject,  in  finding  our  materials  ready 
made  for  us ;  sufficiently  definite  mean- 
ings given  in  the  common  speech  to  the 
words  right  and  wrong,  good  and  bad, 
with  which  we  have  to  deal ;  a  fair  body 
of  facts  familiarly  known,  which  we  have 
to  organize  and  account  for  as  best  we 
can.  But  our  special  inquiry  is,  what  ac- 
count can  be  given  of  these  facts  by  the 
scientific  method  ?  to  which  end  we  can- 
not do  better  than  fix  our  ideas  as  well  as 
we  can  upon  the  character  and  scope  of 
that  method. 

Now  the  scientific  method  is  a  method 
'of  getting  knowledge  by  inference,  and 
that  of  two  different  kinds.  One  kind  of 
inference  is  that  which  is  used  in  the 
physical  and  natural  sciences,  and  it  ena- 
oles  us  to  go  from  known  phenomena  to 
unknown  phenomena.  Because  a  stone 
is  heavy  in  the  morning,  I  infer  that  it 
will  be  heavy  in  the  afternoon  ;  and  I  in- 
fer this  by  assuming  a  certain  uniform- 
ity of  nature.  The  sort  of  uniformity 
that  I  assume  depends  upon  the  extent 
of  my  scientific  education  ;  the  rules  of 
inference  become  more  and  more  definite 
as  we  go  on.  At  first  I  might  assume 
that  all  things  are  always  alike ;  this 
would  not  be  true,  but  it  has  to  be  as- 
sumed in  a  vague  way,  in  order  that  a 
thing  may  have  the  same  name  at  differ- 
ent times.  Afterward  I  get  the  more 
definite  belief  that  certain  particular  qual- 
ities, like  weight,  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  time  of  day ;  and  subsequently  I  find 
that  weight  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  shape  of  the  stone,  but  only  with  the 
quantity  of  it.  The  uniformity  which  we 
assume,  then,  is  not  that  vague  one  that 


we  started  with,  but  a  chastened  and  cor- 
rected uniformity.  I  might  go  on  to  sup- 
pose, for  example,  that  the  weight  of  the 
stone  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  place 
where  it  was  ;  and  a  great  deal  might  be 
said  for  this  supposition.  It  would,  how- 
ever, have  to  be  corrected  when  it  was 
found  that  the  weight  varies  slightly  in 
different  latitudes.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
should  find  that  this  variation  was  just 
the  same  for  my  stone  as  for  a  piece  of 
iron  or  wood  ;  that  it  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  kind  of  matter.  And  so  I  might 
be  led  to  the  conclusion  that  all  matter  is 
heavy,  and  that  the  weight  of  it  depends 
only  on  its  quantity  and  its  position  rela- 
tive to  the  earth.  You  see  here  that  I  go 
on  arriving  at  conclusions  always  of  this 
form ;  that  some  one  circumstance  or 
quality  has  nothing  to  do  with  some 
other  circumstance  or  quality.  I  begin 
by  assuming  that  it  is  independent  of 
everything ;  I  end  by  finding  that  it  is  in- 
dependent of  some  definite  things.  That 
is,  I  begin  by  assuming  a  vague  uniformi- 
ty. I  always  use  this  assumption  to  infer 
from  some  one  fact  a  great  number  of 
other  facts ;  but  as  my  education  proceeds, 
I  get  to  know  what  sort  of  things  may  be 
inferred  and  what  may  not.  An  observer 
of  scientific  mind  takes  note  of  just  those 
things  from  which  inferences  may  be 
drawn,  and  passes  by  the  rest.  If  an  as- 
tronomer, observing  the  sun,  were  to 
record  the  fact  that  at  the  moment  when 
a  sun-spot  began  to  shrink  there  was  a 
rap  at  his  front  door,  we  should  know- 
that  he  was  not  up  to  his  work.  But  if 
he  records  that  sun-spots  are  thickest 
every  eleven  years,  and  that  this  is  also 
the  period  of  extra  cloudiness  in  Jupiter, 
the  observation  may  or  may  not  be  con- 
firmed, and  it  may  or  may  not  lead  to  in- 
ferences of  importance  ;  but  still  it  is  the 
kind  of  thing  from  which  inferences  may  be 
drawn.  There  is  always  a  certain  instinct 
among  instructed  people  which  tells 
them  in  this  way  what  kinds  of  infer- 
ences may  be  drawn  ;  and  this  is  the  un- 
conscious effect  of  the  definite  uniformity* 
which  they  have  been  led  to  assume  in 
nature.  It  may  subsequently  be  organ- 
ized into  a  law  or  general  truth,  and  no 
doubt  becomes  a  surer  guide  by  that 
process.  Then  it  goes  to  form  the  more 
precise  instinct  of  the  next  generation. 

What  we  have  said  about  this  first  kind 
of  inference,  which  goes  from  phenomena 
to  phenomena,  is  shortly  this.  It  pro- 
ceeds upon  an  assumption  of  uniformity 
in  nature;  and  this  assumption  is  not 
fixed  and  made  once  for  all,  but  is  a 


12    [302] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


changing  and  growing  thing,  becoming 
more  definite  as  we  go  on. 

If  I  were  told  to  pick  out  some  one 
character  which  especially  colors  this 
guiding  conception  of  uniformity  in  our 
present  stage  of  science,  I  should  cer- 
tainly reply,  Atomism.  The  form  of 
this  with  which  we  are  most  familiar 
is  the  molecular  theory  of  bodies  ;  which 
represents  all  bodies  as  made  up  of 
small  elements  of  uniform  character, 
each  practically  having  relations  only 
with  the  adjacent  ones,  and  these  re- 
lations the  same  all  through — namely, 
some  simple  mechanical  action  upon  each 
other's  motions.  But  this  is  only  a  par- 
ticular case.  A  palace,  a  cottage,  the 
tunnel  of  the  underground  railway,  and 
a  factory  chimney,  are  all  built  of  bricks ; 
the  bricks  are  alike  in  all  these  cases, 
each  brick  is  practically  related  only  to 
the  adjacent  ones,  and  the  relation  is 
throughout  the  same,  namely,  two  flat 
sides  are  stuck  together  with  mortar. 
There  is  an  atomism  in  the  sciences  of  num- 
ber, of  quantity,  of  space ;  the  theorems 
of  geometry  are  groupings  of  individual 
points,  each  related  only  to  the  adjacent 
ones  by  certain  definite  laws.  But  what 
concerns  us  chiefly  at  present  is  the 
atomism  of  human  physiology.  Just  as 
every  solid  is  built  up  of  molecules,  so  the 
nervous  system  is  built  up  of  nerve-threads 
and  nerve-corpuscles.  We  owe  to  Mr. 
Lewes  our  very  best  thanks  for  the  stress 
which  he  has  laid  on  the  doctrine  that 
nerve-fiber  is  uniform  in  structure  and 
function,  and  for  the  word  neurz'fity, 
which  expresses  its  common  properties. 
And  similar  gratitude  is  due  to  Dr. 
Hughlings  Jackson  for  his  long  defense 
of  the  proposition  that  the  element  of  nerv- 
ous structure  and  function  is  a  sensori- 
motor  process.  In  structure,  this  is  two 
fibers  or  bundles  of  fibers  going  to  the 
same  gray  corpuscle ;  in  function  it  is  a 
message  traveling  up  one  fiber  or  bundle 
to  the  corpuscle,  and  then  down  the  other 
fiber  or  bundle.  Out  of  this,  as  a  brick, 
the  house  of  our  life  is  built.  All  these 
simple  elementary  processes  are  alike, 
and  each  is  practically  related  only  to  the 
adjacent  ones ;  the  relation  being  in  all 
cases  of  the  same  kind,  viz.,  the  passage 
from  a  simple  to  a  complex  message,  or 
•vice  versd. 

The  result  of  atomism  in  any  form, 
dealing  with  any  subject,  is  that  the  prin- 
ciple of  uniformity  is  hunted  down  into 
the  elements  of  things ;  it  is  resolved  into 
the  uniformity  of  these  elements  or  atoms, 
and  of  the  relations  of  those  which  are 


next  to  each  other.  By  an  element  or  an 
atom  we  do  not  here  mean  something  ab- 
solutely simple  or  indivisible,  for  a  mole- 
cule, a  brick,  and  a  nerve-process  are  all 
very  complex  things.  We  only  mean 
that,  for  the  purpose  in  hand,  the  proper- 
ties of  the  still  more  complex  thing  which 
is  made  of  them  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  complexities  or  the  differences  of 
these  elements.  The  solid  made  of  mole- 
cules, the  house  made  of  bricks,  the  nerv- 
ous system  made  of  sensori-motor  proc- 
esses, are  nothing  more  than  collections 
of  these  practically  uniform  elements, 
having  certain  relations  of  nextness,  and 
behavior  uniformly  depending  on  that 
nextness. 

The  inference  of  phenomena  from  phe- 
nomena, then,  is  based  upon  an  assump- 
tion of  uniformity,  which  in  the  present 
stage  of  science  may  be  called  an  atomic 
uniformity. 

The  other  mode  of  inference  which  be- 
longs to  the  scientific  method  is  that  which 
is  used  in  what  are  called  the  mental  and 
moral  sciences ;  and  it  enables  us  to  go  from 
phenomena  to  the  facts  which  underlie 
phenomena,  and  which  are  themselves  not 
phenomena  at  all.  If  I  pinch  your  arm, 
and  you  draw  it  away  and  make  a  face,  I 
infer  that  you  have  felt  pain.  I  infer  this 
by  assuming  that  you  have  a  conscious- 
ness similar  to  my  own,  and  related  to 
your  perception  of  your  body  as  my  con- 
sciousness is  related  to  my  perception  of 
my  body.  Now  is  this  the  same  assump- 
tion as  before,  a  mere  assumption  of  the 
uniformity  of  nature  ?  It  certainly  seems 
like  it  at  first ;  but  if  we  think  about  it 
we  shall  find  that  there  is  a  very  pro- 
found difference  between  them.  In  phy- 
sical inference  I  go  from  phenomena  to 
phenomena  ;  that  is,  from  the  knowledge 
of  certain  appearances  or  representations 
actually  present  to  my  mind  I  infer  certain 
other  appearances  that  might  be  present 
to  my  mind.  From  the  weight  of  a  stone 
in  the  morning — that  is,  from  my  feeling 
of  its  weight,  or  my  perception  of  the 
process  of  weighing  it,  I  infer  that  the 
stone  will  be  heavy  in  the  afternoon — 
that  is,  I  infer  the  possibility  of  similar 
feelings  and  perceptions  in  me  at  another 
time.  The  whole  process  relates  to  me 
and  my  perceptions,  to  things  contained 
in  my  mind.  But  when  I  infer  that  you 
are  conscious  from  what  you  say  or  do,  I 
pass  from  that  which  is  my  feeling  or 
perception,  which  is  in  my  mind  and 
part  of  me,  to  that  which  is  not  my  feel- 
ing at  all,  which  is  outside  me  altogether, 
namely,  your  feelings  and  perceptions. 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[308]     IS 


Now  there  is  no  possible  physical  infer- 
ence, no  inference  of  phenomena  from 
phenomena,  that  will  help  me  over  that 
gulf.  I  am  obliged  to  admit  that  this 
second  kind  of  inference  depends  upon 
another  assumption,  not  included  in  the 
assumption  of  the  uniformity  of  phenom- 
ena. 

How  does  a  dream  differ  from  waking 
life  ?  In  a  fairly  coherent  dream  every- 
thing seems  quite  real,  and  it  is  rare,  I 
think,  with  most  people  to  know  in  a 
dream  that  they  are  dreaming.  Now,  if  a 
dream  is  sufficiently  vivid  and  coherent, 
all  physical  inferences  are  just  asvalid  in 
it  as  they  are  in  waking  life.  In  a  hazy 
or  imperfect  dream,  it  is  true,  things  melt 
into  one  another  unexpectedly  and  unac- 
countably ;  we  fly,  remove  mountains,  and 
stop  runaway  horses  with  a  ringer.  But 
there  is  nothing  in  the  mere  nature  of  a 
dream  to  hinder  it  from  being  an  exact 
copy  of  waking  experience.  If  1  find  a 
stone  heavy  in  one  part  of  my  dream,  and 
infer  that  it  is  heavy  at  some  subsequent 
part,  the  inference  will  be  verified  if  the 
drearn  is  coherent  enough ;  I  shall  go  to 
the  stone,  lift  it  up,  and  find  it  as  heavy 
as  before.  And  the  same  thing  is  true  of 
all  inferences  of  phenomena  from  phe- 
nomena. For  physical  purposes  a  dream 
is  just  as  good  as  real  life ;  the  only  dif- 
ference is  in  vividness  and  coherence. 

What,  then,  hinders  us  from  saying 
that  life  is  all  a  dream?  If  the  phenom- 
ena we  dream  of  are  just  as  good  and 
real  phenomena  as  those  we  see  and  feel 
when  we  are  awake,  what  right  have  we 
to  say  that  the  material  universe  has  any 
more  existence  apart  from  our  minds  than 
the  things  we  see  and  feel  in  our  dreams  ? 
The  answer  which  Berkeley  gave  to  that 
question  was,  No  right  at  all.  The  physi- 
cal universe  which  I  see  and  feel,  and  in- 
fer, is  just  my  dream  and  nothing  else; 
that  which  you  see  is  your  dream  ;  only  it 
so  happens  that  all  our  dreams  agree  in 
many  respects.  This  doctrine  of  Berke- 
ley's has  now  been  so  far  confirmed  by 
the  physiology  of  the  senses,  that  it  is  no 
longer  a  metaphysical  speculation,  but  a 
scientifically  established  fact. 

But  there  is  a  difference  between 
dreams  and  waking  life,  which  is  of  far  too 
great  importance  for  any.  of  us  to  be  in 
danger  of  neglecting  it.  When  I  see  a 
man  in  my  dream,  there  is  just  as  good  a 
body  as  if  I  were  awake  ;  muscles,  nerves, 
circulation,  capability  of  adapting  means 
to  ends.  If  only  the  dream  is  coherent 
enough,  no  physical  test  can  establish  that 
it  is  a  dream.  In  both  cases  I  see  and 


feel  the  same  thing.  In  both  cases  I  as- 
sume the  existence  of  more  than  I  can 
see  and  feel,  namely,  the  consciousness  of 
this  other  man.  But  now  here  is  a  great 
difference,  and  the  only  difference — in  a 
dream  this  assumption  is  wrong  ;  in  wak- 
ing life  it  is  right.  The  man  1  see  in  my 
dream  is  a  mere  machine,  a  bundle  of 
phenomena  with  no  underlying  reality; 
there  is  no  consciousness  involved  except 
my  consciousness,  no  feeling  in  the  case 
except  my  feelings.  The  man  I  see  in 
waking  life  is  more  than  a  bundle  of  phe- 
nomena ;  his  body  and  its  actions  are 
phenomena,  but  these  phenomena  are 
merely  the  symbols  and  representatives 
in  my  mind  of  a  reality  which  is  outside 
my  mind,  namely,  the  consciousness  of 
the  man  himself  which  is  represented  by 
the  working  of  his  brain,  and  the  simpler 
quasi-mental  facts,  not  woven  into  his 
consciousness,  which  are  represented  by 
the  working  of  the  rest  of  his  body. 
What  makes  life  not  to  be  a  dream  is  the 
existence  of  those  facts  which  we  arrive 
at  by  our  second  process  of  inference ; 
the  consciousness  of  men  and  the  higher 
animals,  the  sub-consciousness  of  lower 
organisms  and  the  quasi-mental  facts 
which  go  along  with  the  motions  of  inani- 
mate matter.  In  a  book  which  is  very 
largely  and  deservedly  known  by  heart, 
'  Through  the  Looking-glass,'  there  is  a 
very  instructive  discussion  upon  this  point. 
Alice  has  been  taken  to  see  the  Red 
King  as  he  lies  snoring  ;  and  Tweedledee 
asks,  '  Do  you  know  what  he  is  dreaming 
about?'  'Nobody  can  guess  that,'  re- 
plies Alice.  '  Why,  about  you,'  he  says 
triumphantly.  '  And  if  he  stopped  dream- 
ing about  you,  where  do  you  suppose 
you'd  be?'  'Where  I  am  now  of  course,' 
said  Alice.  '  Not  you,'  said  Tweedledee, 
'  you'd  be  nowhere.  You  are  only  a  sort 
of  thing  in  his  dream.'  '  If  that  there 
King  was  to  wake,' added  Tweedledum, 
'  you'd  go  out,  bang  !  just  like  a  candle.' 
Alice  was  quite  right  in  regarding  these 
remarks  as  unphilosophical.  The  fact 
that  she  could  see,  think,  and  feel  was 
proof  positive  that  she  was  not  a  sort  of 
thing  in  anybody's  dream.  This  is  the 
meaning  of  that  saying,  Cogtto  ergo  sum, 
of  Descartes.  By  him,  and  by  Spinoza 
after  him,  the  verb  cogito  and  the  sub- 
stantive cogttatio  were  used  to  denote 
consciousness  in  general,  any  kind  of  feel- 
ing, even  what  we  now  call  sub-con- 
sciousness. The  saying  means  that  feel- 
ing exists  in  and  for  itself,  not  as  a  quality 
or  modification  or  state  or  manifestation 
of  anything  else. 


14    [304] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


We  are  obliged  in  every  hour  of  our 
lives  to  act  upon  beliefs  which  have  been 
arrived  at  by  inferences  of  these  two 
kinds  ;  inferences  based  on  the  assump- 
tion of  uniformity  in  nature,  and  infer- 
ences which  add  to  this  the  assumption  of 
feelings  which  .are  not  our  own.  By  or- 
ganizing the  '  common  sense  '  which  em- 
bodies the  first  class  of  inferences,  we 
build  up  the  physical  sciences  ;  that  is  to 
say,  all  those  sciences  which  deal  with  the 
physical,  material,  or  phenomenal  uni- 
verse, whether  animate  or  inanimate. 
And  so  by  organizing  the  common  sense 
which  embodies  the  second  class  of  in- 
ferences, we  build  up  various  sciences  of 
mind.  The  description  and  classification 
of  feelings,  the  facts  of  their  association 
with  each  other,  and  of  their  simultaneity 
with  phenomena  of  nerve-action, — all  this 
belongs  to  psychology,  which  may  be  his- 
torical and  comparative.  The  doctrine 
of  certain  special  classes  of  feelings  is  or- 
ganized into  the  special  sciences  of  those 
leelings  ;  thus  the  facts  about  the  feelings 
which  we  are  now  considering,  about  the 
feelings  of  moral  approbation  and  repro- 
bation, are  organized  into  the  science  of 
ethics  and  the  facts  about  the  feeling  of 
beauty  or  ugliness  are  organized  into  the 
science  of  aesthetics,  or,  as  it  is  some- 
times called,  the  philosophy  of  art.  For 
all  of  these  the  uniformity  of  nature  has 
to  be  assumed  as  a  basis  of  inference  ; 
but  over  and  above  that  it  is  necessary  to 
assume  that  other  men  are  conscious  in 
the  same  way  that  I  am.  Now  in  these 
sciences  of  mind,  just  as  in  the  physical 
sciences,  the  uniformity  which  is  assumed 
in  the  inferred  mental  facts  is  a  growing 
thing  which  becomes  more  definite  as  we 
go  on,  and  each  successive  generation  of 
observers  knows  better  what  to  observe 
and  what  sort  of  inferences  may  be  drawn 
from  observed  things.  But,  moreover,  it 
is  as  true  of  the  mental  sciences  as  of  the 
physical  cnes  that  the  uniformity  is  in  the 
present  stage  of  science  an  atomic  uni- 
formity. We  have  learned  to  regard  our 
consciousness  as  made  up  of  elements 
practically  alike,  having  relations  of  suc- 
cession in  time  and  of  contiguity  at  each 
instant,  which  relations  are  in  all  cases 
practically  the  same.  The  element  of 
consciousness  is  the  transference  of  an 
impression  into  the  beginning  of  action. 
Our  mental  life  is  a  structure  "made  out  of 
such  elements,  just  as  the  working  of  our 
nervous  system  is  made  out  of  sensori- 
motor  processes.  And  accordingly  the 
interaction  of  the  two  branches  of  science 
leads  us  to  regard  the  mental  facts  as  the 


realities  or  things-in-themselves,  of  which 
the  material  phenomena  are  mere  pict- 
ures or  symbols.  The  final  result  seems 
to  be  that  atomism  is  carried  beyond 
phenomena.into  the  realities  which  phe- 
nomena represent ;  and  that  the  observed 
uniformities  of  nature,  in  so  far  as  they 
can  be  expressed  in  the  language  of  atom- 
ism, are  actual  uniformities  of  things  in 
themselves. 

So  much  for  the  two  things  which  I 
have  promised  to  bring  together;  the 
facts  of  our  moral  feelings,  and  the  scien- 
tific method.  It  may  appear  that  the  lat- 
ter has  been  expounded  at  more  length 
than  was  necessary  for  the  treatment  of 
this  particular  subject ;  but  the  justifica- 
tion for  this  length  is  to  be  found  in  cer- 
tain common  objections  to  the  claims  of 
science  to  be  the  sole  judge  of  mental  and 
moral  questions.  Some  of  the  chief  of 
these  objections  I  will  now  mention. 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  science  can, 
only  deal  with  what  is,  but  that  art  and 
morals  deal  with  what  ought  to  be.  The 
saying  is  perfectly  true,  but  it  is  quite  con- 
sistent with  what  is  equally  true,  that  the 
facts  of  art  and  morals  are  fit  subject- 
matter  of  science.  I  may  describe  all 
that  I  have  in  my  house,  and  I  may  state 
everything  that  I  want  in  my  house ;  these 
are  two  very  different  things,  but  they  are 
equally  statements  of  facts.  One  is  a 
statement  about  phenomena,  about  the 
objects  which  are  actually  in  my  posses- 
sion ;  the  other  is  a  statement  about  my 
feelings,  about  my  wants  and  desires. 
There  are  facts,  to  be  got  at  by  common 
sense,  about  the  kind  of  thing  that  a  man 
of  a  certain  character  and  occupation  will 
like  to  have  in  his  house,  and  these  facts 
may  be  organized  into  general  statements 
on  the  assumption  of  uniformity  in  na- 
ture. Now  the  organized  results  of  com- 
mon sense  dealing  with  facts  are  just 
science  and  nothing  else.  And  in  tke 
same  way  I  may  say  what  men  do  at  the 
present  day,  how  we  live  now,  or  I  may 
say  what  we  ought  to  do,  namely,  what 
course  of  conduct,  if  adopted,  we  should 
morally  approve ;  and  no  doubt  these 
would  be  two  very  different  things.  But 
each  of  them  would  be  a  statement  of 
facts.  One  would  belong  to  the  sociol- 
ogy of  our  time ;  in  so  far  as  men's  deeds 
could  not  be  adequately  described  to  us 
without  some  account  of  their  feelings 
and  intentions,  it  would  involve  facts  be- 
longing to  psychology  as  well  as  facts  be- 
longing to  the  physical  sciences.  But  the 
other  would  be  an  account  of  a  particular 
class  of  our  feelings,  namely,  those  which 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[305J    15 


we  feel  toward  an  action  when  it  is  re- 
garded as  right  or  wrong.  These  facts 
may  be  organized  by  common  sense  on 
the  assumption  of  uniformity  in  nature 
just  as  well  as  any  other  facts.  And  we 
shall  see  farther  on  that  not  only  in  this 
sense,  but  in  a  deeper  and  more  abstract 
sense,  '  what  ought  to  be  done '  is  a  ques- 
tion for  scientific  inquiry. 

The  same  objection  is  sometimes  put 
into  another  form.  It  is  said  that  laws 
of  chemistry,  for  example,  are  general 
statements  about  what  happens  when 
bodies  are  treated  in  a  certain  way,  and 
that  such  laws  are  fit  matter  for  science  ; 
but  that  moral  laws  are  different,  because 
they  tell  us  to  do  certain  things,  and  we 
may  or  may  not  obey  them.  The  mood 
of  the  one  is  indicative,  of  the  other  im- 
perative. Now  it  is  quite  true  that  the 
word  law  in  the  expression  '  law  of  nat- 
ure,' and  in  the  expressions  *  law  of  mor- 
als,' '  law  of  the  land,'  has  two  totally  dif- 
ferent meanings,  which  no  educated  per- 
son will  confound  ;  and  I  am  not  aware 
that  any  one  has  rested  the  claim  of  sci- 
ence to  judge  moral  questions  on  what  is 
no  better  than  a  stale  and  unprofitable  pun. 
But  two  different  things  may  be  equally 
matters  of  scientific  investigation,  even 
when  their  names  are  alike  in  sound.  A 
telegraph  post  is  not  the  same  thing  as  a 
post  in  the  War  Office,  and  yet  the  same 
intelligence  may  be  used  to  investigate 
the  conditions  of  the  one  and  the  other. 
That  such  and  such  things  are  right  or 
wrong',  that  such  and  such  laws  are  laws 
of  morals  or  laws  of  the  land,  these  are 
facts,  just  as  the  laws  of  chemistry  are 
facts  ;  and  all  facts  belong  to  science,  and 
are  her  portion  forever. 

Again,  it  is  sometimes  said  that  moral 
questions  have  been  authoritatively  set- 
tled by  other  methods  ;  that  we  ought  to 
accept  this  decision,  and  not  to  question 
it  by  any  method  of  scientific  inquiry  ; 
and  that  reason  should  give  way  to  reve- 
lation on  such  matters.  I  hope  before  I 
have  done  to  show  just  cause  why  we 
should  pronounce  on  such  teaching  as 
this  no  light  sentence  of  moral  condem- 
nation: first,  because  it  is  our  duty  to 
form  those  beliefs  which  are  to  guide 
our  actions  by  the  two  scientific  modes  of 
inference,  and  by  these  alone ;  and,  sec- 
ondly, because  the  proposed  mode  of  set- 
tling ethical  questions  by  authority  is  con- 
trary to  the  very  nature  of  right  and  wrong. 
t  Leaving  this,  then,  for  the  present,  I 
pass  on  to  the  most  formidable  objection 
that  has  been  made  to  a  scientific  treat- 
ment of  ethics.  The  objection  is  that  the 


scientific  method  is  not  applicable  to  hu- 
man action,  because  the  rule  of  uniform- 
itydoes  not  hold  good.  Whenever  a  man 
exercises  his  will,  and  makes  a  voluntary 
choice  of  one  out  of  various  possible 
courses,  an  event  occurs  whose  relation 
to  contiguous  events  cannot  be  included 
in  a  general  statement  applicable  to  all 
similar  cases.  There  is  something  wholly 
capricious  and  disorderly,  belonging  to 
that  moment  only ;  and  we  have  no  right 
to  conclude  that  if  the  circumstances  were 
exactly  repeated,  and  the  man  himself 
absolutely  unaltered,  he  would  choose  the 
same  course. 

It  is  clear  that  if  the  doctrine  here  stated 
is  true,  the  ground  is  really  cut  from  un- 
der our  feet,  and  we  cannot  deal  with  hu- 
man action  by  the  scientific  method.  I 
shall  endeavor  to  show,  moreover,  that  in 
this  case,  although  we  might  still  have  9, 
feeling  of  moral  approbation  or  reproba- 
tion toward  actions,  yet  we  could  not 
reasonably  praise  or  blarne  men  for  their 
deeds,  nor  regard  them  as  morally  respon^ 
sible.  So  that,  if  my  contention  is  just, 
to  deprive  us  of  the  scientific  method  is 
practically  to  deprive  us  of  morals  alto- 
gether. On  both  grounds,  therefore,  it  is 
of  the  greatest  importance  that  we  should- 
define  our  position  in  regard  to  this  con- 
troversy ;  if,  indeed,  that  can  be  called  a 
controversy  in  which  the  practical  belief 
of  all  mankind  and  the  consent  of  nearly 
all  serious  writers  are  on  one  side. 

Let  us  in  the  first  place  consider  a  lit- 
tle more  closely  the  connection  between 
conscience  and  responsibility.  Words  in 
common  use,  such  as  these  two,  have 
their  meanings  practically  fixed  before 
difficult  controversies  arise ;  but  after  the 
controversy  has  arisen  each  party  gives 
that  slight  tinge  to  the  meaning  which 
best  suits  its  own  view  of  the  question. 
Thus  it  appears  to  each  that  the  common 
language  obviously  supports  their  own 
view,  that  this  is  the  natural  and  primary 
view  of  the  matter,  and  that  the  oppo- 
nents are  using  words  in  a  new  meaning 
and  wrestling  them  from  their  proper 
sense.  Now  this  is  just  my  position.  I 
have  endeavored  so  far  to  use  all  words 
in  their  common  every-day  sense,  only 
making  this  as  precise  as  I  can;  and, 
with  two  exceptions,  of  which  due  warn- 
ing will  be  given,  I  shall  do  my  best  to 
continue  this  practice  in  future.  I  seem 
to  myself  to  be  talking  the  most  obvious 
platitudes ;  but  it  must  be  remembered 
that  those  who  take  the  opposite  view 
will  think  I  am  perverting  the  English 
language, 


10    [306] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


There  is  a  common  meaning  of  the 
word  '  responsible,'  which  though  not  the 
same  as  that  of  the  phrase  '  morally  re- 
sponsible,' may  throw  some  light  upon  it. 
If  we  say  of  a  book,  '  A  is  responsible  for 
the  preface  and  the  first  half,  and  B  is  re- 
sponsible for  the  rest,'  we  mean  that  A 
wrote  the  preface  and  the  first  half.  If 
two  people  go  into  a  shop  and  choose  a 
blue  silk  dress  together,  it  might  be  said 
that  A  was  responsible  for  its  being  silk 
and  B  for  its  being  blue.  Before  they 
chose,  the  dress  was  undetermined  both 
in  color  and  in  material.  A's  choice  fixed 
the  material,  and  then  it  was  undeter- 
mined only  in  color.  B's  choice  fixed  the 
color ;  and  if  we  suppose  that  there  were 
no  more  variable  conditions  (only  one 
blue  silk  dress  in  the  shop),  the  dress  was 
then  completely  determined.  In  this 
sense  of  the  word  we  say  that  a  man  is 
responsible  for  that  part  of  an  event 
which  was  undetermined  when  he  was 
left  out  of  account,  and  which  became 
determined  when  he  was  taken  account 
of.  Suppose  two  narrow  streets,  one 
lying  north  and  south,  one  east  and  west, 
and  crossing  one  another.  A  man  is  put 
down  where  they  cross,  and  has  to  walk. 
Then  he  must  walk  either  north,  south, 
east,  or  west,  and  he  is  not  responsible 
for  that ;  what  he  is  responsible  for  is  the 
choice  of  one  of  these  four  directions. 
May  we  not  say  in  the  present  sense  of 
the  word  that  the  external  circumstances 
are  responsible  for  the  restriction  on  his 
choice  ?  We  should  mean  only  that  the 
fact  of  his  going  in  one  or  other  of  the 
four  directions  was  due  to  external  cir- 
cumstances, and  not  to  him.  Again,  sup- 
pose I  have  a  number  of  punches  of  va- 
rious shapes,  some  square,  some  oblong, 
some  oval,  some  round,  and  that  I  am 
going  to  punch  a  hole  in  a  piece  of  paper. 
Where  I  shall  punch  the  hole  may  be 
fixed  by  any  kind  of  circumstances ;'  but 
the  shape  of  the  hole  depends  on  the 
punch  I  take.  May  we  not  say  that  the 
punch  is  responsible  for  the  shape  of  the 
hole,  but  not  for  the  position  of  it  ? 

It  may  be  said  that  this  is  not  the  whole 
of  the  meaning  of  the  word  '  responsible,' 
even  in  its  loosest  sense ;  that  it  ought 
never  to  be  used  except  of  a  conscious 
agent.  Still  this  is  part  of  its  meaning ; 
if  we  regard  an  event  as  determined  by  a 
variety  of  circumstances,  a  man's  choice 
being  among  them,  we  say  that  he  is  re- 
sponsible for  just  that  choice  which  is  left 
him  by  the  other  circumstances. 

When  we  ask  the  practical  question, 
'  Who  is  responsible  for  so-and-so  ?  '  we 


want  to  find  out  who  is  to  be  got  at  in 
order  that  so-and-so  may  be  altered.  If 
I  want  to  change  the  shape  of  the  hole  I 
make  in  my  paper,  I  must  change  my 
punch  ;  but  this  will  be  of  no  use  if  I  want 
to  change  the  position  of  the  hole.  If  I 
want  the  color  of  the  dress  changed  from 
blue  to  green,  it  is  B,  and  not  A,  that  I 
must  persuade. 

We  mean  something  more  than  this 
when  we  say  that  a  man  is  morally  re- 
sponsible for  an  action.  It  seems  to  me 
that  moral  responsibility  and  conscience 
go  together,  both  in  regard  to  the  man 
and  in  regard  to  the  action.  In  order 
that  a  man  may  be  morally  responsible 
for  an  action,  the  man  must  have  a  con- 
science, and  the  action  must  be  one  in  re- 
gard to  which  conscience  is  capable  of 
acting  as  a  motive,  that  is,  the  action  must 
be  capable  of  being  right  or  wrong.  If  a 
child  were  left  on  a  desert  island  and  grew* 
up  wholly  without  a  conscience,  and  then 
were  brought  among  men,  he  would  not 
be  morally  responsible  for  his  actions 
until  he  had  acquired  a  conscience  by 
education.  He  would  of  course  be  re- 
sponsible, in  the  sense  just  explained,  for 
that  part  of  them  which  was  left  undeter- 
mined by  external  circumstances,  and  if 
we  wanted  to  alter  his  actions  in  these 
respects  we  should  have  to  do  it  by  alter- 
ing* him.  But  it  would  be  useless  and 
unreasonable  to  attempt  to  do  this  by 
means  of  praise  or  blame,  the  expression 
of  moral  approbation  or  disapprobation, 
until  he  had  acquired  a  conscience  which 
could  be  worked  upon  by  such  means. 

It  seems,  then,  that  in  order  that  a  man 
may  be  morally  responsible  for  an  action, 
three  things  are  necessary  : — • 

1.  He  might  have  done' something  else  ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  action  was  not  wholly 
determined   by  external    circumstances, 
and  he  is  responsible  only  for  the  choice 
which  was  left  him. 

2.  He  had  a  conscience. 

3.  The  action  was  one  in  regard  to  the 
doing  or  not  doing  of  which  conscience 
might  be  a  sufficient  motive. 

These  three  things  are  necessary,  but 
it  does  not  follow  that  they  are  sufficient. 
It  is  very  commonly  said  that  the  action 
must  be  a  voluntary  one.  It  will  be 
found,  I  think,  that  this  is  contained  in 
m}fc  third  condition,  and  also  that  the  form 
of  statement  I  have  adopted  exhibits 
more  clearly  the  reason  why  the  condi- 
tion is  necessary'.  We  may  say  that  an 
action  is  involuntary  either  when  it  is  in- 
stinctive, or  when  one  motive  is  so  strong 
that  there  is  no  voluntary  choice  between 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[307]      17 


motives.  An  involuntary  cough  pro-1 
duced  by  irritation  of  the  glottis  is  no 
proper  subject  for  blame  or  praise.  A 
man  is  not  responsible  for  it,  because  it 
is  done  by  a  part  of  his  body  without  con- 
sulting him.  What  is  meant  by  htm  in 
this  case  will  require  further  investigation. 
Again,  when  a  dipsomaniac  has  so  great 
and  overmastering  an  inclination  to  drink 
that  we  cannot  conceive  of  conscience 
being  strong  enough  to  conquer  it,  he  is 
not  responsible  for  that  act,  though  he 
may  be  responsible  for  having  got  himself 
into  the  state.  But  if  it  is  conceivable 
that  a  very  strong  conscience  fully  brought 
to  bear  might  succeed  in  conquering  the 
inclination,  we  may  take  a  lenient  view 
of  the  fall  and  say  there  was  a  very  strong 
temptation,  but  we  shall  still  regard  it  as 
a  fall,  and  say  that  the  man  is  responsible 
and  a  wrong  has  been  done. 

.  But  since  it  is  just  in  this  distinction 
between  voluntary  and  involuntary  action 
that  the  whole  crux  of  the  matter  lies, 
let  us  examine  more  closely  into  it.  I 
say  that  when  I  cough  or  sneeze  involun- 
tarily, it  is  really  not  I  that  cough  or 
sneeze,  but  a  part  of  my  body  which  acts 
without  consulting  me.  This  action  is 
determined  for  me  by, the  circumstances, 
and  is  not  part  of  the  choice  that  is  left  to 
me,  so  that  I  am  not  responsible  for  it. 
The  question  comes  then  to  determining 
how  much  is  to  be  called  circumstances, 
and  how  much  is  to  be  called  me.  Now  I 
want  to  describe  what  happens  when  I 
voluntarily  do  anything,  and  there  are 
two  courses  open  to  me.  i  may  describe 
the  things  in  themselves,  my  feelings 
and  the  general  course  of  my  conscious- 
ness, trusting  to  the  analogy  between  my 
consciousness  and  yours  to  make  me  un- 
derstood ;  or  I  may  describe  these  things 
as  nature  describes  them  to  your  senses, 
namely  in  terms  of  the  phenomena  of  my 
nervous  system,  appealing  to  your  mem- 
ory of  phenomena  and  your  knowledge 
of  physical  action.  I  shall  do  both,  be- 
cause in  some  respects  our  knowledge  is 
more  complete  from  the  one  source^  and 
in  some  respects  from  the  other.  When 
I  look  back  and  reflect  upon  a  voluntary 
action,  I  seem  to  find  that  it  differs  from 
an  involuntary  action  in  the  fact  that  a 
certain  portion  of  my  character  has  been 
consulted.  There  is  always  a  suggestion 
of  some  sort,  either  the  end  of  a  train  of 
thought  or  a  new  sensation  ;  and  there  is 
an  action  ensuing,  either  tjie  movement 
of  a  muscle  or  set  of  muscles,  or  the  fix- 
ing of  attention  upon  something.  But 
between  these  two  there  is  a  consultation, 


as  it  were,  of  my  past  history.     The  sug- 
gestion is  viewed  in   the  light  of  every- 
thing bearing  on  it  that  I  think  of  at  the 
time,  and  in  virtue  of  this  light  it  moves 
me  to  act  in  one  or  more  ways.     Let  us 
first  suppose  that  no  hesitation  is  involv-  . 
ed,  that  only  one  way  of  acting  is  sug- 
gested, and  I  yield  to   this  impulse  and 
act  in  the  particular  way.     This  is  the  • 
simplest  kind  of  voluntary  action.     It  dif- 
fers from  involuntary  or  instinctive  action  . 
in  the  fact  that  with  the  latter  there  is  no 
such  conscious   consultation  of  past  his- 
tory.    If  we  describe  these  facts  in  terms 
of  the  phenomena  which  picture  them  to  • 
other  minds,  we  shall  say  that  in  involun- ' 
tary  action   a   message  passes    straight 
through  from  the  sensory  to  the  motor 
center,  and  so  on  to  the  muscles,  with- ; 
out  consulting  the   cerebrum  ;  while  in 
voluntary  action  the  message  is  passed'- 
on  from  the  sensory  center  to  the  cere-, 
brum,  there  translated  into  appropriate- 
motor  stimuli,  carried  down  to  the  mo-- 
ter    center,  and  so  on   to   the  muscles.. 
There    may  be  other  differences,  but  at. 
least  there   is  this  difference.     Now    oa; 
the  physical  side  that  which   determines- 
what  groups  of  cerebral  fibers  shall  be  setJ 
at  work  by  the  given  message,  and  what. 
groups  of  motor  stimuli  shall  be  set  at  work, 
by  these,  is  the  mechanism  of  my  brain  at. 
the  time;  and  on  the  mental  side   that 
which  determines  what  memories'shall  be-; 
called   up   by  the   given   sensation,   and; 
what  motives  these  memories  shall  bring 
into  action,  is  my  mental  character.     We: 
may  say,  then,  in  this  simplest  case  of- 
voluntary  action,  that  when  the  sugges- 
tion is  given  it   is   the  character  of   me* 
which  determines  the  character  of  the  en- 
suing action  ;  and  consequently  that  I  ami 
responsible   for  choosing  that  particular* 
course  out  of  those  which  were  left  open: 
to  me  by  the  external  circumstances. 

This  is  when  I  yield  to  the  impulse.. 
But  suppose  I  do  not ;  suppose  that  the 
original  suggestion,  viewed  in  the  light  of 
memory,  sets  various  motives  in  action,, 
each  motive  belonging  to  a  certain  class* 
of  things  which  I  remember.  Then  I 
choose  which  of  these  motives  shall  pre- 
vail. Those  who  carefully  watch  them- 
selves, find  out  that  a  particular  motive  is 
made  to  prevail  by  the  fixing  of  the  at- 
tention upon  that  class  of  remembered 
things  which  calls  up  the  motive.  The 
physical  side  of  this  is  the  sending  of 
blood  to  a  certain  set  of  nerves — namely, 
those  whose  action  corresponds  to  the 
memories  which  are  to  be  attended  to. 
The  sending  of  blood  is  accomplished  by 


J8    [308] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


the  pinching  of  arteries  ;  and  there  are 
special  nerves,  called  vaso-motor  nerves, 
whose  business  it  is  to  carry  messages  to 
the  walls  of  the  arteries  and  get  them 
pinched.  Now  this  act  of  directing  the 
attention  may  be  voluntary  or  involuntary 
just  like  any  other  act.  When  the  trans- 
formed and  re-enforced  nerve-message 
gets  to  the  vaso-motor  center,  some  part 
of  it  may  be  so  predominant  that  a  mes- 
sage goes  straight  off  to  the  arteries,  and 
sends  a  quantity  of  blood  to  the  nerves 
supplying  that  part ;  or  the  call  for  blood 
may  be  sent  back  for  revision  by  the 
cerebrum,  which  is  thus  again  consulted. 
To  say  the  same  thing  in  terms  of  my 
feelings,  a  particular  class  of  memories 
roused  by  the  original  suggestion  may 
seize  upon  my  attention  before  I  have  time 
to  choose  what  I  will  attend  to  ;  or  the 
appeal  may  be  carried  to  a  deeper  part  of 
my  character  dealing  with  wider  and 
more  abstract  conceptions,  which  views 
the  conflicting  motives  in  the  light  of  a 
past  experience  of  motives,  and  by  that 
light  is  drawn  to  one  or  the  other  of 
them. 

We  thus  get  to  a  sort  of  motive  of  the 
second  order  or  motive  of  motives.  Is 
there  any  reason  why  we  should  not  go 
on  to  a  motive  of  the  third  order,  and  the 
fourth,  and  so  on  ?  None  whatever  that 
I  know  of,  except  that  no  one  has  ever 
observed  such  a  thing.  There  seems 
plenty  of  room  for  the  requisite  mechan- 
ism on  the  physical  side ;  and  no  one  can 
say,  on  the  mental  side,  how  complex  is 
the  working  of  his  consciousness.  But 
we  must  carefully  distinguish  between 
the  intellectual  deliberation  about  motives, 
which  applies  to  the  future  and  the  past, 
and  the  practical  choice  of  motives  in  the 
moment  of  will.  The  former  may  be  a 
train  of  any  length  and  complexity :  we 
have  no  reason  to  believe  that  the  latter 
is  more  than  engine  and  tender. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  classify 
actions  in  respect  of  the  kind  of  respon- 
sibility which  belongs  to  them ;  namely 
we  have — 

1.  Involuntary  or  instinctive  actions. 

2.  Voluntary  actions  in  which  the  choice 
of  motives  is  involuntary. 

3.  Voluntary    actions    in    which    the 
choice  of  motives  is  voluntary. 

In  each  of  these  cases  what  is  respon- 
sible is  that  part  of  my  character  which 
determines  what  the  action  shall  be. 
For  instinctive  actions  we  do  not  say  that 
/  am  responsible,  because  the  choice  is 
made  before  I  know  anything  about  it. 
For  voluntary  actions  I  am  responsible, 


because  I  make  the  choice;  that  is,  the 
character  of  me  is  what  determines  the 
character  of  the  action.  In  me,  then,  for 
this  purpose,  is  included  the  aggregate 
of  links  of  association  which  determines 
what  memories  shall  be  called  up  by  a 
given  suggestion,  and  what  motives  shall 
be  set  at  work  by  these  memories.  But 
we  distinguish  this  mass  of  passions  and 
pleasures,  desire  and  knowledge  and 
pain,  which  makes  up  most  of  my  char- 
acter at  the  moment,  from  that  inner  and 
deeper  motive-choosing  self  which  is 
called  Reason,  and  the  Will,  and  the 
Ego ;  which  is  only  responsible  when 
motives  are  voluntarily  chosen  by  direct- 
ing attention  to  them.  It  is  responsible 
only  for  the  choice  of  one  motive  out  of 
those  presented  to  -it,  not  for  the  nature 
of  the  motives  which  are  presented. 

But  again,  I  may  reasonably  be  blamed 
for  what  I  did  yesterday,  or  a  week  ago, 
or  last  year.  This  is  because  I  am  per- 
manent ;  in  so  far  as  from  my  actions  of 
that  date  an  inference  may  be  drawn 
about  my  character  now,  it  is  reasonable 
that  I  should  be  treated  as  praiseworthy 
or  blamable.  And  within  certain  limits 
I  am  for  the  same  reason  responsible  for 
what  I  am  now,  because  within  certain 
limits  I  have  made  myself.  Even  in- 
stinctive actions  are  dependent  in  many 
cases  upon  habits  which  may  be  altered 
by  proper  attention  and  care ;  and  still 
more  the  nature  of  the  connections  be- 
tween sensation  and  action,  the  associa- 
tions of  memory  and  motive,  may  be  vol- 
untarily modified  if  I  choose  to  try.  The 
habit  of  choosing  among  motives  is  one 
which  may  be  acquired  and  strengthened 
by  practice,  and  the  strength  of  particular 
motives,  by  continually  directing  attention 
to  them,  may  be  almost  indefinitely  in- 
creased or  diminished.  Thus,  if  by  me  is 
meant  not  the  instantaneous  me  of  this 
moment,  but  the  aggregate  me  of  my 
past  life,  or  even  of  the  last  year,  the 
range  of  my  responsibility  is  very  largely 
increased.  I  am  responsible  for  a  very 
large  portion  of  the  circumstances  which 
are  now  external  to  me ;  that  is  to  say,  I 
am  responsible  for  certain  of  the  restric- 
tions on  my  own  freedom.  As  the  eagle 
was  shot  with  an  arrow  that  flew  on  its 
own  feather,  so  I  find  myself  bound  with 
fetters  of  my  proper  forging. 

Let  us  now  endeavor  to  conceive  an 
action  which  is  not  determined  in  any 
way  by  the  character  of  the  ageni.  If  we 
ask,  '  What  makes  it  to  be  that  action 
and  no  other  ?  '  we  are  told,  '  The  man's 
Ego.'  The  words  are  here  used,  it  seems- 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[309] 


to  me,  in  some  non-natural  sense,  if  in 
any  sense  at  all.  One  thing  makes  an- 
other to  be  what  it  is  when  the  characters 
of  the  two  tui.igs  are  connected  together 
by  some  general  statement  or  rule.  But 
we  have  to  suppose  that  -the  character  of 
the  action  is  not  connected  with  the  char- 
acter of  the  Ego  by  any  general  state- 
ment or  rule.  With  the  same  Ego  and 
the  same  circumstances  of  all  kinds, 
anything  within  the  limits  imposed  by  the 
circumstances  may  happen  at  any  mo- 
ment. I  find  myself  unable  to  conceive 
any  distinct  sense  in  which  responsibility 
could  apply  in  this  case ;  nor  do  I  see  at 
all  how  it  would  be  reasonable  to  use 
praise  or  blame.  If  the  action  does  not 
depend  on  the  character,  what  is  the  use 
of  trying  to  alter  the  character  ?  Sup- 
pose, however,  that  this  indeterminate- 
ness  is  only  partial;  that  the  character 
does  add  some  restrictions  to  those  al- 
ready imposed  by  circumstances,  but 
leaves  the  choice  between  certain  actions 
undetermined,  and  to  be  settled  by 
chance  or  the  transcendental  Ego.  Is  it 
not  clear  that  the  man  would  be  respon- 
sible for  precisely  that  part  of  the  char- 
acter of  the  action  which  was  determined 
by  his  character,  and  not  for  what  was 
left  undetermined  by  it  ?  For  it  is  just 
that  part  which  was  determined  by  his 
character  which  it  is  reasonable  to  try  to 
alter  by  altering  him. 

We  who  believe  in  uniformity  are  not 
the  only  people  unable  to  conceive  re- 
sponsibility without  it.  These  are  the 
words  of  Sir  W.  Hamilton,  as  quoted 
by  Mr.  J.  S.  Mill :— * 

'Nay,  were  we  even  to  admit  as  true 
what  we  cannot  think  as  possible,  still  the 
doctrine  of  a  motiveless  volition  would  be 
only  casualism ;  and  the  free  acts  of  an 
indifferent  are,  morally  and  rationally,  as 
worthless  as  the  pre-ordered  passions  of 
a  determined  will.' 

'  That,  though  inconceivable,  a  motive- 
less volition  would,  if  conceived,  be  con- 
ceived as  morally  worthless,  only  shows 
our  impotence  more  clearly.' 

'Is  the  person  an  original  undeter- 
mined cause  of  the  determination  of  his 
will  ?  If  he  be  not,  then  he  is  not  2,  free 
agent,  and  the  scheme  of  Necessity  is  ad- 
mitted. If  he  be,  in  the  first  place,  it  is 
impossible  to  conceive  the  possibility  of 
this  ;  and  in  the  second,  if  the  fact,  though 
inconceivable,  be  allowed,  it  is  impossible 
to  see  how  a  cause,  undetermined  by  any 


*  Examination,  p.  495,  2d  cd. 


motive,  can  be  a  rational,  moral,  and  ac- 
countable cause.' 

It  is  true  that  Hamilton  also  says  that 
the  scheme  of  necessity  is  inconceivable, 
because  it  leads  to  an  infinite  non-com- 
mencement ;  and  that  '  the  possibility  of 
morality  depends  on  the  possibility  of  lib- 
erty ;  for  if  a  man  be  not  a  free  agent,  he' 
is  not  the  author  of  his  actions,  and  has, 
therefore,  no  responsibility — no  moral 
personality  at  all.' 

I  know  nothing  about  necessity ;  I  only 
believe  that  nature  is  practically  uniform 
even  in  human  action.  I  know  nothing 
about  an  infinitely  distant  past;  I  only 
know  that  I  ought  to  base  on  uniformity 
those  inferences  which  are  to  guide  my 
actions.  But  that  man  is  a  free  agent  ap- 
pears to  me  obvious,  and  that  in  the  nat- 
ural sense  of  the  words.  We  need  ask 
for  no  better  definition  than  Kant's  : — 

4  Will  is  a  kind  of  causality  belonging 
to  living  agents,  in  so  far  as  they  are  ra-' 
tional ;  and  freedom  is  such  a  property  of 
that  causality  as  enables  them  to  be  effi- 
cient agents  independently  of  outside 
causes  determining  them ;  as,  on  the 
other  hand,  necessity  (Naturnothwendig- 
ketf)  is  that  property  of  all  irrational  be- 
ings which  consists  in  their  being  deter- 
mined to  activity  by  the  influence  of  out- 
side causes.'  ('"Metaphysics  of  Ethics/ 
chap,  iii.) 

I  believe  that  I  am  a  free  agent  when 
my  actions  are  independent  of  the  control 
of  circumstances  outside  me ;  and  it 
seems  a  misuse  of  language  to  call  me  a 
free  agent  if  my  actions  are  determined 
by  a  transcendental  Ego  who  is  indepen- 
dent of  the  circumstances  inside  me — 
that  is  to  say,  of  my  character.  The  ex- 
pression '  free  will '  has  unfortunately 
been  imported  into  mental  science  from  a 
theological  controversy  rather  different 
from  the  one  we  are  now  considering.  It 
is  surely  too  much  to  expect  that  good 
and  serviceable  English  words  should  be 
sacrificed  to  a  phantom. 

In  an  admirable  book,  '  The  Methods 
of  Ethics,'  Mr.  Henry  Sidgwick  has 
stated,  with  supreme  fairness  and  im- 
partiality, both  sides  of  this  question. 
After  setting  forth  the  'almost  over- 
whelming cumulative  proof '  of  uniform- 
ity in  human  action,  he  says  that  it  seems 
'  more  than  balanced  by  a  single  argu- 
ment on  the  other  side :  the  immediate 
affirmation  of  consciousness  in  the  mo- 
ment of  deliberate  volition.'  '  No  amount 
of  experience  of  the  sway  of  motives  ever 
tends  to  make  me  distrust  my  intuitive 
consciousness  that  in  resolving,  afto? 


20    [310] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


deliberation,  I  exercise  free  choice  as  to 
which  of  the  motives  acting  upon  me 
shall  prevail.' 

The  only  answer  to  this  argument  is 
that  it  is  not '  on  the  other  side.'  There  is 
no  doubt  about  the  deliverance  of  con- 
sciousness ;  and  even  if  our  powers  of  self- 
observation  had  not  been  acute  enough  to 
discover  it,  the  existence  of  some  choice 
between  motives  would  be  proved  by  the 
existence  of  vaso-motor  nerves.  But 
perhaps  the  most  instructive  way  of  meet- 
ing arguments  of  this  kind  is  to  inquire 
what  consciousness  ought  to  say  in 
order  that  its  deliverances  may  be  of 
any  use  in  the  controversy.  It  is  affirmed, 
on  the  side  of  uniformity,  that  the  feel- 
ings in  my  consciousness  in  the  moment 
of  voluntary  choice  have  been  preceded 
by  facts  out  of  my  consciousness  which 
are  related  to  them  in  a  uniform  manner, 
so  that  if  the  previous  facts  had  been 
accurately  known  the  voluntary  choice 
might  have  been  predicted.  On  the  other 
side  this  is  denied.  To  be  of  any  use  in  the 
controversy,  then,  the  immediate  deliver- 
ance of  my  consciousness  must  be  com- 
petent to  assure  me  of  the  non-existence 
of  something  which  by  hypothesis  is  not 
in  my  consciousness.  Given  an  abso- 
«  lutely  dark  room,  can  my  sense  of  sight 
'  assure  me  that  there  is  no  one  but  myself 
in  it  ?  Can  my  sense  of  hearing  assure 
me  that  nothing  inaudible  is  going  on  ? 
As  little  can  the  immediate  deliverance  of 
my  consciousness  assure  me  that  the  uni- 
formity of  nature  does  not  apply  to  human 
actions. 

.  It  is  perhaps  necessary,  in  connection 
with  this  question,  to  refer  to  that  singular 
Materialism  of  high  authority  and  recent 
date  which  makes  consciousness  a  phys- 
ical agent,  '  correlates  '  it  with  Light  and 
Nerve-force,  and  so  reduces  it  to  an 
objective  phenomenon.  This  doctrine  is 
founded  on  a  common  and  very  useful 
mode  of  speech,  in  which  we  say,  for  ex- 
ample, that  a  good  fire  is  a  source  of 
pleasure  on  a  cold  day,  and  that  a 
man's  feeling  of  chill  may  make  him  run 
to,  it.  But  so  also  we  say  that  the  sun 
rises  and  sets  every  morning  and  night, 
although  the  man  in  the  moon  sees  clear- 
ly that  this  is  due  to  the  rotation  of  the 
earth.  One  cannot  be  pedantic  all  day. 
But  if  we  choose  for  once  to  be  pedantic, 
the  matter  is  after  all  very  simple.  Sup- 
pose that  I  am  made  to  run  by  feeling  a 
chill.  When  I  begin  to  move  my  leg,  I 
may  observe  if  I  like  a  double  series  ol 
facts.  I  have  the  feeling  of  effort,  the 
sensation  of  motion  in  my  leg  ;  I  feel  the 


pressure  of  my  foot  on  the  ground. 
Along  with  this  I  may  see.  with  my  eyes, 
or  feel  with  my  hands,  the  motion  of  my 
leg  as  a  material  object.  The  first  series 
of  facts  belongs  to  me  alone  ;  the  second 
may  be  equally  observed  by  anybody  else. 
The  mental  series  began  first ;  I  willed  to 
move  my  leg  before  I  saw  it  move.  But 
when  I  know  more  about  the  matter,  I 
can  trace  the  material  series  further  back, 
and  find  nerve-messages  going  to  the 
muscles  of  my  leg  to  make  it  move. 
But  I  had  a  feeling  of  chill  before  I  cho?e 
o  move  my  leg.  Accordingly,  I  can  find 
nerve-messages,  excited  by  the  contrac- 
tion due  to  the  low  temperature,  going  to 
my  brain  from  the  chilled  skin.  Assum- 
ing the  uniformity  of  nature,  I  carry  for- 
ward and  backward  both  the  mental  and 
the  material  series.  A  uniformity  is  ob- 
served in  each,  and  a  parallelism  is  ob- 
served between  them,  whenever  observa- 
tions can  be  made.  But  sometimes  one 
series  is  known  better,  and  sometimes 
the  other ;  so  that  in  telling  a  story  we 
quite  naturally  speak  sometimes  of  mental 
facts  and  sometimes  of  material  facts. 
A  feeling  of  chill  made  a  man  run  ;  strictly 
speaking,  the  nervous  disturbance  which 
co-existed  with  that  feeling  of  chill  made 
him  run,  if  we  want  to  talk  about  material 
facts  ;  or  the  feeling  of  chill  produced  the 
form  of  sub-consciousness  which  co-exists 
with  the  motion  of  legs,  if  we  want  to 
talk  about  mental  facts.  But  we  know 
nothing  about  the  special  nervous  disturb- 
ance which  co-exists  with  a  feeling  of 
chill,  because  it  has  not  yet  been  local- 
ized in  the  brain  ;  and  we  know  nothing 
about  the  form  of  sub-consciousness 
which  co-exists  with  the  motion  of  legs  ; 
although  there  is  very  good  reason  for 
believing  in  the  existence  of  both.  So- 
we  talk  about  the  feeling  of  chill  and  the 
running,  because  in  one  case  we  know 
the  mental  side,  and  in  the  other  the- 
material  side.  A  man  might  show  me  a 
picture  of  the  battle  of  Gravelotte,  and 
say,  '  You  can't  see  the  battle,  because 
it's  all  over,  but  there  is  a  picture  of  it.' 
And  then-he  might  put  a  chassepot  into 
my  hand,  and  say,  '  We  could  not  repre- 
sent the  whole  construction  of  a  chassepot 
in  the  picture,  but  you  can  examine  this 
one,  and  find  it  out.'  If  I  now  insisted  on 
mixing  up  the  two  modes  of  communica- 
tion of  knowledge,  if  I  expected  that  the 
chassepots  in  the  picture  would  go  off, 
and  said  that  the  one  in  my  hand  was 
painted  on  heavy  canvas,  I  should  be 
acting  exactly  in  the  spirit  of  the  new 
materialism.  For  the  material  facts  are 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[311]    21 


a  representation  or  symbol  of  the  mental 
facts,  just  as  a  picture  is  a  representa- 
tion or  symbol  of  a  battle.  And  my  own 
mind  is  a  reality  from  which  I  can  judge 
by  analogy  of  the  realities  represented  by 
other  men's  brains,  just  as  the  chassepot 
in  my  hand  is  a  reality  from  which  I  can 
judge  by  analogy  of  the  chassepots  rep- 
resented in  the  picture.  When,  therefore, 
we  ask,  '  What  is  the  physical  link  be- 
tween the  ingoing  message  from  chilled 
skin  and  the  outgoing  message  which 
moves  the  leg  ?  '  and  the  answer  is,  '  A 
man's  Will,'  we  have  as  much  right  to 
be  amused  as  if  we  had  asked  our  friend 
with  the  picture  what  pigment  was  used 
in  painting  the  cannon  in  the  foreground, 
and  received  the  answer,  '  Wrought  iron.' 
It  will  be  found  excellent  practice  in  the 
mental  operations  required  by  this  doc- 
trine to  imagine  a  train,  the  fore  part 
of  which  is  an  engine  and  three  carriages 
linked  with  iron  couplings,  and  the  hind 
part  three  other  carriages  linked  with  iron 
couplings ;  the  bond  between  the  two 
parts  being  made  out  of  the  sentiments 
of  amity  subsisting  between  the  stoker 
and  the  guard. 

To  sum  up :  the  uniformity  of  nature 
in  human  actions  has  been  denied  on  the 
ground  that  it  takes  away  responsibility, 
that  it  is  contradicted  by  the  testimony 
of  consciousness,  and  that  there  is  a  phys- 
ical correlation  between  mind  and  mat- 
ter. We  have  replied  that  the  uniformity 
of  nature  is  necessary  to  responsibility, 
that  it  is  affirmed  by  the  testimony  of 
consciousness  whenever  consciousness  is 
competent  to  testify,  and  that  matter  is 
the  phenomenon  or  symbol  of  which 
mind  or  quasi-mind  is  the  symbolized 
and  represented  thing.  We  are  now  free 
to  continue  our  inquiries  on  the  supposi- 
tion that  nature  is  uniform. 

We  began  by  describing  the  moral 
sense  of  an  Englishman.  No  doubt  the 
description  would  serve  very  well  for  the 
more  civilized  nations  of  Europe  ;  most 
closely  for  Germans  and  Dutch.  But 
the  fact  that  we  can  speak  in  this  way 
discloses  that  there  is  more  than  one 
moral  sense,  and  that  what  I  feel  to  be 
right  another  man  may  feel  to  be  wrong. 
Thus  we  cannot  help  asking  whether 
there  is  any  reason  for  preferring  one 
moral  sense  to  another ;  whether  the 
question,  '  What  is  right  to  do  ?  '  has  in 
any  one  set  of  circumstances  a  single  an- 
swer which  can  be  definitely  known. 

Clearly,  in  the  first  rough  sense  of  the 
word,  this  is  not  true.  What  is  right  for 
me  to  do  now,  seeing  that  I  am  here 


with  a  certain  character,  and  a  certain 
moral  sense  as  part  of  it,  is  just  what  I 
feel  to  be  right.  The  individual  con- 
science is,  in  the  moment  of  volition,  the 
only  possible  judge  of  what  is  right; 
there  is  no  conflicting  claim.  But  if  we 
are  deliberating  about  the  future,  we  know 
that  we  can  modify  our  conscience  grad- 
ually by  associating  with  people,  reading 
certain  books,  and  paying  attention  to 
certain  ideas  and  feelings ;  and  we  may  ask 
ourselves,  '  How  shall  we  modify  our  con- 
science, if  at  all  ?  what  kind  of  conscience 
shall  we  try  to  get  ?  what  is  the  best  con- 
science ? '  We  may  ask  similar  ques- 
tions about  our  sense  of  taste.  There  is 
no  doubt  at  present  that  the  nicest  things 
to  me  are  the  things  I  like  ;  but  I  know 
that  I  can  train  myself  to  like  some  things 
and  dislike  others,  and  that  things  which 
are  very  nasty  at  one  time  may  come  to 
be  great  delicacies  at  another.  I  may 
ask,  '  How  shall  I  train  myself  ?  What  is 
the  best  taste?'  And  this  leads  very 
natiufelly  to  putting  the  question  in  an- 
other form,  namely,  '  What  is  taste  good 
for?  What  is  the  purpose  or  function  of 
taste  ? '  We  should  probably  find  as  the 
answer  to  that  question  that  the  purpose 
or  function  of  taste  is  to  discriminate 
wholesome  food  from  unwholesome  ;  that 
it  is  a  matter  of  stomach  and  digestion. 
It  will  follow  from  this  that  the  best  taste 
is  that  which  prefers  wholesome  food, 
and  that  by  cultivating  a  preference  for 
wholesome  and  nutritious  things  I  shall 
be  training  my  palate  in  the  way  it  should, 
go.  In  just  the  same  way  our  question 
about  the  best  conscience  will  resolve  it- 
self into  a  question  about  the  purpose  or 
function  of  the  conscience — why  we  have 
got  it,  and  what  it  is  good  for. 

Now  to  my  mind  the  simplest  and 
clearest  and  most  profound  philosophy 
that  was  ever  written  upon  this  subject  is 
to  be  found  in  the  2d  and  3d  chapters 
of  Mr.  Darwin's  '  Descent  of  Man.'  In 
these  chapters  it  appears  that  just  as 
most  physical  characteristics  of  organ- 
isms have  been  evolved  and  preserved 
because  they  were  useful  to  the  individ- 
ual in  the  struggle  for  existence  against 
other  individuals  and  other  species,  so 
this  particular  feeling  has  been  evolved 
and  preserved  because  it  is  useful  to  the 
tribe  or  community  in  the  struggle  for 
existence  against  other  tribes,  and 
against  the  environment  as  a  whole.  The 
function  of  conscience  is  the  preservation 
of  the  tribe  as  a  tribe.  And  we  shall 
rightly  train  our  consciences  if  we  leacn 
to  approve  those  actions  which  tend  to 


22    [312] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


the  advantage  of  the  community  in  the 
struggle  for  existence. 

There  are  here  some  words,  however, 
which  require  careful  definition.  And 
first  the  word  purpose.  A  thing  serves 
a  purpose  when  it  is  adapted  to  some  end  ; 
thus  a  corkscrew  is  adapted  to  the  end  of 
extracting  corks  from  bottles,  and  our 
lungs  are  adapted  to  the  end  of  respira- 
tion. We  may  say  that  the  extraction  of 
corks  is  the  purpose  of  the  corkscrew, 
and  that  respiration  is  the  purpose  of  the 
lungs.  But  here  we  shall  have  used  the 
word  in  two  different  senses.  A  man 
made  the  corkscrew  with  a  purpose  in  his 
mind,  and  he  knew  and  intended  that  it 
should  be  used  for  pulling  out  corks. 
But  nobody  made  our  lungs  with  a  pur- 
pose in  his  mind,  and  intended  that  they 
should  be  used  for  breathing.  The  res- 
piratory apparatus  was  adapted  to  its 
purpose  by  natural  selection — namely, 
by  the  gradual  preservation  of  better  and 
better  adaptations,  and  the  killing  off  of 
the  worse  and  imperfect  adaptations.  In 
using  the  word  purpose  for  the  result  of 
this  unconscious  process  of  adaptation  by 
survival  of  the  fittest,  I  know  that  I  am 
somewhat  extending  its  ordinary  sense, 
which  implies  consciousness.  But  it 
seems  to  me  that  on  the  score  of  conven- 
ience there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  for 
this  extension  of  meaning.  We  want  a 
word  to  express  the  adaptation  of  means 
•  to  an  end,  whether  involving  conscious- 
ness or  not ;  the  word  purpose  will  do 
very  well,  and  the  adjective  purposive 
has  already  been  used  in  this  sense.  But 
if  the  use  is  admitted,  we  must  distinguish 
two  kinds  of  purpose.  There  is  the  un- 
conscious purpose  which  is  attained  by 
natural  selection,  in  which  no  conscious- 
ness need  be  concerned  ;  and  there  is  the 
conscious  purpose  of  an  intelligence  which 
designs  a  thing  that  it  may  serve  to  do 
something  which  he  desires  to  be  done. 
The  distinguishing  mark  of  this  second 
kind,  design  or  conscious  purpose,  is  that 
in  the  consciousness  of  the  agent  there  is 
an  image  or  symbol  of  the  end  which  he 
desires,  and  this  precedes  and  determines 
the  use  of  the  means.  Thus  the  man 
who  first  invented  a  corkscrew  must 
have  previously  known  that  corks  were 
in  bottles,  and  have  desired  to  get  them 
out.  We  may  describe  this  if  we  like  in 
terms  of  matter,  and  say  that  a  purpose 
of  the  second  kind  implies  a  complex 
nervous  system,  in  which  there  can  be 
iormed  an  image  or  symbol  of  the  end, 
and  that  this  symbol  determines  the  use 
of  the  means.  The  nervous  image  or 


symbol  of  anything  is  that  mode  of  work- 
ing of  part  of  my  brain  which  goes  on 
simultaneously  and  is  correlated  with  my 
thinking  of  the  thing. 

Aristotle  defines  an  organism  as  that 
in  which  the  part  exists  for  the  sake  of 
the  whole.  It  is  not  that  the  existence  of 
the  part  depends  on  the  existence  of  the 
whole,  for  every  whole  exists  only  as  an 
aggregate  of  parts  related  in  a  certain 
way;  but  that  the  shape  and  nature  of 
the  part  are  determined  by  the  wants  of 
the  whole.  Thus  the  shape  and  nature 
of  my  foot  are  what  they  are,  not  for  the 
sake  of  my  foot  itself,  but  for  the  sake  of 
my  whole  body,  and  because  it  wants  to 
move  about.  That  which  the  part  has  to 
do  for  the  whole  is  called  its  function. 
Thus  the  function  of  my  foot  is  to  sup- 
port me,  and  assist  in  locomotion.  Not 
all  the  nature  of  the  part  is  necessarily 
for  the  sake  of  the  whole  :  the  compara- 
tive callosity  of  the  skin  of  my  sole  is  for 
the  protection  of  my  foot  itself. 

Society  is  an  organism,  and  man  in 
society  is  part  of  an  organism  according 
to  this  definition,  in  so  far  as  some  por- 
tion of  the  nature  of  man  is  what  it  is  for 
the  sake  of  the  whole — society.  Now 
conscience  is  such  a  portion  of  the  nature 
of  man,  and  its  function  is  the  preserva- 
tion of  society  in  the  struggle  for  exist- 
ence. We  may  be  able  to  define  this 
function  more  closely  when  we  know 
more  about  the  way  in  which  conscience 
tends  to  preserve  society. 

Next  let  us  endeavor  to  make  precise 
the  meaning  of  the  wrords  community 
and  society.  It  is  clear  that  at  different 
times  men  may  be  divided  into  groups  of 
greater  or  less  extent — tribes,  clans,  fami- 
lies, nations,  towns.  If  a  certain  number 
of  clans  are  struggling  for  existence,  that 
portion  of  the  conscience  will  be  devel- 
oped which  tends  to  the  preservation  of 
the  clan ;  so,  if  towns  or  families  are 
struggling,  we  shall  get  a  moral  sense 
adapted  to  the  advantage  of  the  town  or 
the  family.  In  this  way  different  portions 
of  the  moral  sense  may  be  developed  at 
different  stages  of  progress.  Now  it  is 
clear  that  for  the  purpose  of  the  conscience 
the  word  community  at  any  time  will 
mean  a  group  of  that  size  and  nature 
which  is  being  selected  or  not  selected  for 
survival  as  a  whole.  Selection  may  be 
going  on  at  the  same  time  among  many 
different  kinds  of  groups.  And  ulti- 
mately the  moral  sense  will  be  composed 
of  various  portions  relating  to  various 
groups,  the  function  or  purpose  of  each 
portion  being  the  advantage  of  that  group 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[313]    23 


to  which  it  relates  in  the  struggle  for  ex- 
istence. Thus  we  have  a  sense  of  family 
duty,  of  municipal  duty,  of  national  duty, 
and  of  duties  toward  all  mankind. 

It  is  to  be  noticed  that  part  of  the  nat- 
ure of  a  smaller  group  may  be  what  it  is 
for  the  sake  of  a  larger  group  to  which  it 
belongs  ;  and  then  we  may  speak  of  the 
function  of  the  smaller  group.  Thus  it 
appears  probable  that  the  family,  in  the 
form  in  which  it  now  exists  among  us,  is 
determined  by  the  good  of  the  nation ; 
and  we  may  say  that  the  function  of  the 
family  is  to  promote  the  advantage  of  the 
nation  or  larger  society  in  some  certain 
ways.  But  I  do  not  think  it  would  be 
right  to  follow  Auguste  Comte  in  speak- 
ing of  the  function  of  humanity  ;  because 
humanity  is  obviously  not  a  part  of  any 
larger  organism  for  whose  sake  it  is  what 
it  is. 

Now  that  we  have  cleared  up  the  mean- 
ings of  some  of  our  words,  we  are  still  a 
great  way  from  the  definite  solution  of 
our  question,  '  What  is  the  best  con- 
science ?  or  what  ought  I  to  think  right  ?  ' 
For  we  do  not  yet  know  what  is  for  the 
advantage  of  the  community  in  the  strug- 
gle for  existence.  If  we  choose  to  learn 
by  the  analogy  of  an  individual  organism, 
we  may  see  that  no  permanent  or  final 
answer  can  be  given,  because  the  organ- 
ism grows  in  consequence  of  the  struggle, 
and  develops  new  wants  while  it  is  satis- 
fying the  old  ones.  But  at  any  given 
time  it  has  quite  enough  to  do  to  keep 
alive  and  to  avoid  dangers  and  diseases. 
.  So  we  may  expect  that  the  wants  and 
even  the  necessities  of  the  social  organism 
will  grow  with  its  growth,  and  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  predict  what  may  tend  in  the 
distant  future  to  its  advantage  in  the 
struggle  for  existence.  But  still,  in  this 
vague  and  general  statement  of  the  func- 
tions of  conscience,  we  shall  find  that  we 
have  already  established  a  great  deal. 

In  the  first  place,  right  is  an  affair  of 
the  community,  and  must  not  be  referred 
to  anything  else.  To  go  back  to  our  anal- 
ogy of  taste  :  if  I  tried  to  persuade  you 
.hat  the  best  palate  was  that  which  pre- 
ferred things  pretty  to  look  at,  you  might 
condemn  me  a  priori  without  any  ex- 
perience, by  merely  knowing  that  taste  is 
an  affair  of  stomach  and  digestion — that 
its  function  is  to  select  wholesome  food. 
And  so,  if  any  one  tries  to  persuade  us 
that  the  best  conscience  is  that  which 
thinks  it  right  to  obey  the  will  of  some 
individual,  as  a  deity  or  a  monarch,  he  is 
condemned  d  priori  in  the  very  nature  of 
right  and  wrong.  In  order  that  the  wor- 


ship of  a  deity  may  be  consistent  with 
natural  ethics,  he  must  be  regarded  as 
the  friend  and  helper  of  humanity,  and 
his  character  must  be  judged  from  his 
actions  by  a  moral  standard  which  is  in- 
dependent of  him.  And  this,  it  must  be 
admitted,  is  the  position  which  has  been 
taken  by  most  English  divines,  as  long  as 
they  were  Englishmen  first  and  divines 
afterward.  The  worship  of  a  deity  who 
is  represented  as  unfair  or  unfriendly  to 
any  portion  of  the  community  is  a  wrong 
thing,  however  great  may  be  the  threats 
and  promises  by  which  it  is  commended. 
And  still  worse,  the  reference  of  right 
and  wrong  to  his  arbitrary  will  as  a  stand- 
ard, the  diversion  of  the  allegiance  of  the 
moral  sense  from  the  community  to  him, 
is  the  most  insidious  and  fatal  of  social 
diseases.  It  was  against  this  that  the 
Teutonic  conscience  protested  in  the  Ref- 
ormation. Again,  in  monarchical  coun- 
tries, in  order  that  allegiance  to  the  sov- 
ereign may  be  consistent  with  natural 
ethics,  he  must  be  regarded  as  the  serv- 
ant and  symbol  of  the  national  unity, 
capable  of  rebellion  and  punishable  for 
it.  And  this  has  been  the  theory  of  the 
English  constitution  from  time  immemo- 
rial. 

The  first  principle  of  natural  ethics, 
then,  is  the  sole  and  supreme  allegiance 
of  conscience  to  the  community.  I  vent- 
ure to  call  this  piety  in  accordance  with 
the  older  meaning  of  the  word.  Even  if 
it  should  turn  out  impossible  to  sever  it 
from  the  unfortunate  associations  which 
have  clung  to  its  later  meaning,  still  it 
seems  worth  while  to  try. 

An  immediate  deduction  from  our  prin- 
ciple is  that  there  are  no  self-regarding 
virtues  properly  so  called  ;  those  qualities 
which  tend  to  the  advantage  and  preser- 
vation of  the  individual  being  only  mor- 
ally right  in  so  far  as  they  make  him  a 
more  useful  citizen.  And  this  conclusion 
is  in  some  cases  of  great  practical  impor- 
tance. The  virtue  of  purity,  for  example, 
attains  in  this  way  a  fairly  exact  definition  : 
purity  in  a  man  is  that  course  of  conduct 
which  makes  him  to  be  a  good  husband 
and  father,  in  a  woman  that  which  makes 
her  to  be  a  good  wife  and  mother,  or  which 
helps  other  people  so  to  prepare  and  keep 
themselves.  It  is  easy  to  see  how  many 
false  ideas  and  pernicious  precepts  are 
swept  away  by  even  so  simple  a  defini- 
tion as  that. 

Next,  we  may  fairly  define  our  position 
in  regard  to  that  moral  system  which  has 
deservedly  found  favor  with  the  great 
mass  of  our  countrymen.  In  the  common 


24    [3141 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


statement  of  utilitarianism  the  end  of  right 
action  is  detined  to  be  the  greatest  hap- 
piness of  the  greatest  number.  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  reason  and  the  ample  jus- 
tification of  the  success  of  this  system  is 
that  it  explicitly  sets  forth  the  community 
as  the  object  of  moral  allegiance.  But 
'  our  determination  of  the  purpose  of  the 
conscience  will  oblige  us  to  make  a  change 
in  the  statement  of  it.  Happiness  is  not 
the  end  of  right  action.  My  happiness  is 
of  no  use  to  the  community  except  in  so 
far  as  it  makes  me  a  more  efficient  cit- 
izen ;  that  is  to  say,  it  is  rightly  desired 
as  a  means  and  not  as  an  end.  The  end 
may  be  described  as  the  greatest  effi- 
ciency of  all  citizens  as  such.  No  doubt 
happiness  will  in  the  long  run  accrue  to 
th<*  community  as  a  consequence  of  right 
conduct ;  but  the  right  is  determined  in- 
dependently of  the  happiness,  and,  as 
•  Plato  says,  it  is  better  to  suffer  wrong 
•tlian  to  do  wrong. 

In  conclusion,  I  would  add  some  words 
on  the  relation  of  Veracity  to  the  first 
principle  of  Piety.  It  is  clear  that  verac- 
ity is  founded  on  faith  in  man  ;  you  tell  a 
man  the  truth  when  you  can  trust  him 
•with  it  and  are  not  afraid.  This  perhaps 
is  made  more  evident  by  considering  the 
case  of  exception  allowed  by  all  moralists 
— namely,  that  if  a  man  asks  you  the  way 
with  a  view  to  committing  a  murder,  it  is 
right  to  tell  a  lie  and  misdirect  him.  The 
reason  why  he  must  not  have  the  truth 
told  him  is  that  he  would  make  a  bad  use 
of  it ;  he  cannot  be  trusted  with  it. 
About  these  cases  of  exception  an  impor- 
tant remark  must  be  made  in  passing. 
When  we  hear  that  a  man  has  told  a  lie 
under  such  circumstances,  we  are  indeed 
ready  to  admit  that  for  once  it  was  right. 
mensonge  admirable  ;  but  we  always  have 
a  sort  *of  feeling  that  it  must  not  occur 
again.  And  the  same  thing  applies  to 
cases  of  conflicting  obligations,  when  for 
example  the  family  conscience  and  the 
national  conscience  disagree.  In  such 
cases  no  general  rule  can  be  laid  down ; 
we  have  to  choose  the  less  of  two  evils ; 
but  this  is  not  right  altogether  in  the 
same  sense  as  it  is  right  to  speak  the 
truth.  There  is  something  wrong  in  the 
circumstances,  that  we  should  have  to 
choose  an  evil  at  all.  The  actual  course 
to  be  pursued  will  vary  with  the  progress 
of  society ;  that  evil  which  at  first  was 
greater  will  become  less,  and  in  a  perfect 
society  the  conflict  will  be  resolved  into 
harmony.  But  meanwhile  these  cases  of 
exception  must  be  carefully  kept  distinct 
from  the  straightforward  cases  of  right 


and  wrong,  and  they  always  imply  an 
obligation  to  mend  the  circumstances  if 
we  can. 

Veracity  to  an  individual  is  not  only 
enjoined  by  piety  in  virtue  of  the  obvious 
advantage  which  attends  a  straightfor- 
ward and  mutually  trusting  community 
as  compared  with  others,  ^but  also  be- 
cause deception  is  in  all  cases  a  personal 
injury.  Still  more  is  this  true  of  veracity 
to  the  community  itself.  The  conception 
of  the  universe  or  aggregate  of  beliefs 
which  forms  the  link  "between  sensation 
and  action  for  each  individual  is  a  public 
and  not  a  private  matter ;  it  is  formed  by 
society  and  for  society.  Of  what  enor- 
mous importance  it  is  to  the  community 
that  this  should  be  a  true  conception  I 
need  not  attempt  to  describe.  Now  to 
the  attainment  of  this  true  conception 
two  things  are  necessary. 

First,  if  we  study  the  history  of  those 
methods  by  which  true  beliefs  and  false 
beliefs  have  been  attained,  we  shall  see 
that  it  is  our  duty  to  guide  our  beliefs  by 
inference  from  experience  on  the  assump- 
tion of  uniformity  of  nature  and  conscious- 
ness in  other  men,  and  by  this  only. 
Only  upon  this  moral  basis  can  the  founda- 
tions of  the  empirical  method  be  justified. 

Secondly,  veracity  to  the  community 
depends  upon  faith  in  man.  Surely  I 
ought  to  be  talking  platitudes  when  I  say 
that  it  is  not  English  to  tell  a  man  a  Ire, 
or  to  suggest  a  lie  by  your  silence  or  your 
actions,  because  you  are  afraid  that  he  is 
not  prepared  for  the  truth,  because  you 
don't  quite  know  what  he  will  do  when 
he  knows  it,  because  perhaps  after  all  this 
lie  is  a  better  thing  for  him  than  the  truth 
would  be,  this  same  man  being  all  the 
time  an  honest  fellow-citizen  whom  you 
have  every  reason  to  trust.  Surely  I  have 
heard  that  this  craven  crookedness  is  the 
object  of  our  national  detestation.  And 
yet  it  is  constantly  whispered  that  it 
would  be  dangerous  to  divulge  certain 
truths  to  the  masses.  '  I  know  the  whole 
thing  is  untrue  :  but  then  it  is  so  useful 
for  the  people  ;  you  don't  know  what  harm 
you  might  do  by  shaking  their  faith  in  it/ 
Crooked  ways  are  none  the  less  crooked 
because  they  are  meant  to  deceive  great 
masses  of  people  instead  of  individuals, 
If  a  thing  is  true,  let  us  all  believe  it,  rich 
and  poor,  men,  women,  and  children.  If 
a  thing  is  untrue,  let  us  all  disbelieve  it, 
rich  and  poor,  men,  women,  and  children. 
Truth  is  a  thing  to  be  shouted  from  the 
housetops,  not  to  be  whispered  over  rose- 
water  after  dinner  when  the  ladies  arc 
gone  away. 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[315]    25 


Even  in  those  whom  I  would  most  rev- 
erence, who  would  shrink  with  horror 
from  such  actual  deception  as  I  have  just 
mentioned,  I  find  traces  of  a  want  of  faith 
in  man.  Even  that  noble  thinker,  to 
whom  wev  of  this  generation  owe  more 
than  I  can  tell,  seemed  to  say  in  one  of 
his  posthumous  essays  that  in  regard  to 
questions  of  great  public  importance  we 
might  encourage  a  hope  in  excess  of  the 
evidence  (which  would  infallibly  grow 
into  a  belief  and  defy  evidence)  if  we 
found  that  life  was  made  easier  by  it.  As 
'  if  we  should  not  lose  infinitely  more  by 
nourishing  a  tendency  to  falsehood  than 
we  could  gain  by  the  delusion  of  a  pleas- 
ing fancy.  Life  must  first  of  all  be  made 
straight  and  true ;  it  may  get  easier 
through  the  help  this  brings  to  the  com- 
monwealth. And  Lange,  the  great  his- 
torian of  materialism,  says  that  the  amount 
of  false  belief  necessary  to  morality  in 
a  given  society  is  a  matter  of  taste.  I 
cannot  believe  that  any  falsehood  what- 
ever is  necessary  to  morality.  It  cannot 
be  true  of  my  race  and  yours  that  to  keep 
ourselves  from  becoming  scoundrels  we 
must  needs  believe  a  lie.  The  sense  of 
right  grew  up  among  healthy  men  and 
was  fixed  by  the  practice  of  comradeship. 
It  has  never  had  help  from  phantoms  and 
falsehoods,  "and  it  never  can  want  any. 
By  faith  in  man  and  piety  toward  men 
we  have  taught  each  other  the  right 
hitherto;  with  faith  in  man  and  piety 
.toward  men  we  shall  never  more  depart 
,{rom  it. 

III.  THE  ETHICS  OF  BELIEF. 

7.  Tke  Duty  of  Inquiry. — A  ship- 
owner was  about  to  send  to  sea  an  em- 
igrant-ship. He  knew  that  she  was  old, 
and  not  over-well  built  at  the  first ;  that 
she  had  seen  many  seas  and  climes,  and 
often  had  needed  repairs.  Doubts  had 
been  suggested  to  him  that  possibly  she 
,was  not  seaworthy.  These  doubts  prey- 
.ed  upon  his  mind,  and  made  him  unhap- 
py ;  he  thought  that  perhaps  he  ought  to 
have  her  thoroughly  overhauled  and  re- 
fitted, even  though  this  should  put  him  to 
great  expense.  Before  the  ship  sailed, 
however,  he  succeeded  in  overcoming 
these  melancholy  reflections.  He  said  to 
himself  that  she  had  gone  safely  through 
so  many  voyages  and  weathered  so  many 
storms  that  it  was  idle  to  suppose  she 
would  not  come  safely  home  from  this 
trip  also.  He  would  put  his  trust  in 
Providence,  which  could  hardly  fail  to 
protect  all  these  unhappy  families  that 


were  leaving  their  fatherland  to  seek  for 
better  times  elsewhere.  He  would  dis- 
miss from  his  mind  all  ungenerous  suspi- 
cions about  the  honesty  of  builders  and 
contractors.  In  such  ways  he  acquired  a 
sincere  and  comfortable  conviction  that 
his  vessel  was  thoroughly  safe  and  sea- 
worthy ;  he  watched  her  departure  with  a 
light  heart,  and  benevolent  wishes  for 
the  success  of  the  exiles  in  their  strange 
new  home  that  was  to  be  ;  and  lie  got  his 
insurance-money  when  she  went  down  in 
mid-ocean  and  told  no  tales. 

What  shall  we  say  of  him  ?  Surely  this, 
that  he  \vas  verily  guilty  of  the  death  of 
those  men.  It  is  admitted  that  he  did 
sincerely  believe  in  the  soundness  of  his 
ship  ;  but  the  sincerity  of  his  conviction 
can  in  no  wise  help  him,  because  he  had 
no  right  to  believe  on  such  evidence  as 
was  before  him.  He  had  acquired  his 
belief  not  by  honestly  earning  it  in  patient 
investigation,  but  by  stifling  his  doubts. 
And  although  in  the  end  he  may  have 
felt  so  sure  about  it  that  he  could  not 
think  otherwise,  yet  inasmuch  as  he  had 
knowingly  and  willingly  worked  himself 
into  that  frame  of  mind,  he  must  be  held 
responsible  for  it. 

Let  us  alter  the  case  a  little,  and  sup- 
pose that  the  ship  was  not  unsound  after 
all ;  that  she  made  her  voyage  safely,  and 
many  others  after  it.  Will  that  diminish 
the  guilt  of  her  owner  ?  Not  one  jot. 
When  an  action  is  once  done,  it  is  right 
or  wrong  forever ;  no  accidental  failure 
of  its  good  or  evil  fruits  can  possibly  alter 
that.  The  man  would  not  have  been  in- 
nocent, he  would  only  have  been  not  found 
out.  The  question  of  right  or  wrong  has 
to  do  with  the  origin  of  his  belief,  not  the 
matter  of  it ;  not  what  it  was,  but  how 
he  got  it ;  not  whether  it  turned  out  to  be 
true  or  false,  but  whether  he  had  a  right 
to  believe  on  such  evidence  as  was  before 
him. 

There  was  once  an  island  in  which 
some  of  the  inhabitants  professed  a  religion 
teaching  neither  the  doctrine  of  original 
sin  nor  that  of  eternal  punishment.  A 
suspicion  got  abroad  that  the  professors 
of  this  religion  had  made  use  of  unfair 
means  to  get  their  doctrines  taught  to 
children.  They  were  accused  of  wresting 
the  laws  of  their  country  in  such  a  way  as 
to  remove  children  from  the  care  of  their 
natural  and  legal  guardians  ;  and  even  of 
stealing  them  away  and  keeping  them 
concealed  from  their  friends  and  rela- 
tions. A  certain  number  of  men  formed 
themselves  into  a  society  for  the  purpose 
of  agitating  the  public  about  this  matter, 


2G    [310] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


They  published  grave  accusations  against 
individual  citizens  of  the  highest  position 
and  character,  and  did  all  in  their  power 
to  injure  these  citizens  in  the  exercise  of 
their  professions.  So  great  was  the  noise 
they  made,  that  a  Commission  was  ap- 
pointed to  investigate  the  facts  ;  but  after 
the  Commission  had  carefully  inquired 
into  ail  the  evidence  that  could  be  got,  it 
appeared  that  the  accused  were  innocent. 
Not  only  had  they  been  accused  on  in- 
sufficient evidence,  but  the  evidence  of 
their  innocence  was  such  as  the  agitators 
might  easily  have  obtained,  if  they  had  at- 
tempted a  fair  inquiry.  After  these  dis- 
closures the  inhabitants  of  that  country 
looked  upon  the  members  of  the  agitat- 
ing society,  not  only  as  persons  whose 
judgment  was  to  be  distrusted,  but  also 
as  no  longer  to  be  counted  honorable 
men.  For  although  they  had  sincerely 
and  conscientiously  believed  in  the  charges 
they  had  made,  yet  they  had  no  right 
to  believe  on  such  evidence  as  ivas  before 
them.  Their  sincere  convictions,  instead 
of  being  honestly  earned  by  patient  in- 
quiring, were  stolen  by  listening  to  the 
voice  of  prejudice  and  passion. 

Let  us  vary  this  case  also,  and  suppose, 
other  things  remaining  as  before,  that  a 
still  more  accurate  investigation  proved 
the  accused  to  have  been  really  guilty. 
Would  this  make  any  difference  in  the 
guilt  of  the  accusers  ?  Clearly  not ;  the 
question  is  not  whether  their  belief  was 
true  or  false,  but  whether  they  entertained 
it  on  wrong  grounds.  They  would  no 
doubt  say,  '  Now  you  see  that  we  were 
right  after  all ;  next  time  perhaps  you 
will  believe  us.'  And  they  might  be  be- 
lieved, but  they  would  not  thereby  be- 
come honorable  men.  They  would  not 
be  innocent,  they  would  only  be  not 
found  out.  Every  one  of  them,  if  he  chose 
to  examine  himself  in  foro  conscientice, 
would  know  that  he  had  acquired  and 
nourished  a  belief,  when  he  had  no  right 
to  believe  on  such  evidence  as  was  before 
him  ;  and  therein  he  would  know  that  he 
had  done  a  wrong  thing. 

It  may  be  said,  however,  that  in  both 
of  these  supposed  cases  it  is  not  the  be- 
lief which  is  judged  to  be  wrong,  but  the 
action  following  upon  it.  The  shipowner 
might  say,  '  I  am  perfectly  certain  that 
tny  ship  is  sound,  but  still  I  feel  it  my 
duty  to  have  her  examined,  before  trust- 
ing the  lives  of  so  many  people  to  her.' 
And  it  might  be  said  to  the  agitator, 
*  However  convinced  you  were  of  the 
justice  of  your  cause  and  the  truth  of 
your  convictions,  you  ought  not  to  have 


made  a  public  attack  upon  any  man's 
character  until  you  had  examined  the 
evidence  on  both  sides  with  the  utmost 
patience  and  care.' 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  admit  that,  so 
far  as  it  goes,  this  view  of  the  case  is 
right  and  necessary  ;  right,  because  even 
when  a  man's  belief  is  so  fixed  that  he 
cannot  think  otherwise,  he  still  has  a 
choice  in  regard  to  the  action  suggested 
by  it,  and  so  cannot  escape  the  duty  of 
investigating  on  the  ground  of  the  strength 
of  his  convictions;  and  necessary,  be- 
cause those  who  are  not  yet  capable  of 
controlling  their  feelings  and  thoughts 
must  have  a  plain  rule  dealing  with  overt 
acts. 

But  this  being  premised  as  necessary, 
it  becomes  clear  that  it  is  not  sufficient, 
and  that  our  previous  judgment  is  re- 
quired to  supplement  it.  For  it  is  not 
possible  so  to  sever  the  belief  from  the 
action  it  suggests  as  to  condemn  the  one 
without  condemning  the  other.  No  man 
holding  a  strong  belief  on  one  side  of  a 
question,  or  even  wishing  to  hold  a  belief 
on  one  side,  can  investigate  it  with  such 
fairness  and  completeness  as  if  he  were 
really  in  doubt  and  unbiassed  ;  so  that  the 
existence  of  a  belief  not  founded  on  fair 
inquiry  unfits  a  man  for  the  performance 
of  this  necessary  duty. 

Nor  is  that  truly  a  belief  at  all  which 
has  not  some  influence  upon  the  actions 
of  him  who  holds  it.  He  who  truly  be- 
lieves that  which  prompts  him  to  an  ac- 
tion has  looked  upon  the  action  to  lust 
after  it,  he  has  committed  it  already  in 
his  heart.  If  a  belief  is  not  realized  im- 
mediately in  open  deeds,  it  is  stored  up 
for  the  guidance  of  the  future.  It  goes 
to  make  a  part  of  that  aggregate  of  be- 
liefs which  is  the  link  between  sensation 
and  action  at  every  moment  of  all  our  lives, 
and  which  is  so  organized  and  compacted 
together  that  no  part  of  it  can  be  isolated 
from  the  rest,  but  every  new  addition 
modifies  the  structure  of  the  whole.  No 
real  belief,  however  trifling  and  fragment- 
ary it  may  seem,  is  ever  truly  insignifi- 
cant ;  it  prepares  us  to  receive  more  of  its 
like,  confirms  those  which  resembled  it 
before,  and  weakens  others  ;  and  so  grad- 
ually it  lays  a  stealthy  train  in  our  inmost 
thoughts,  which  may  some  day  explode 
into  overt  action,  and  leave  its  stamp 
upon  our  character  forever. 

And  no  one  man's  belief  is  in  any  case 
a  private  matter  which  concerns  himself 
alone.  Our  lives  are  guided  by  that  gen- 
eral conception  of  the  course  of  things 
which  has  been  created  by  society  for  so- 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[317]    27 


cial  purposes.  Our  words,  our  phrases, 
our  forms  and  processes  and  modes  of 
thought,  are  common  property,  fashioned 
and  perfected  from  age  to  age ;  an  heir- 
loom which  every  succeeding  generation 
inherits  as  a  precious  deposit  and  a  sa- 
cred trust  to  be  handed  on  to  the  next 
one,  not  unchanged  but  enlarged  and 
purified,  with  some  clear  marks  of  its 
proper  handiwork.  Into  this,  for  good  or 
ill,  is  woven  every  belief  of  every  man 
who  has  speech  of  his  fellows.  An  awful 
privilege,  and  an  awful  responsibility,  that 
we  should  help  to  create  the  world  in 
which  posterity  will  live. 

In  the  two  supposed  cases  which  have 
been  considered,  it  has  been  judged  wrong 
to  believe  on  insufficient  evidence,  or  to 
nourish  belief  by  suppressing  doubts  and 
avoiding  investigation.  The  reason  of 
this  judgment  is  not  far  to  seek :  it  is  that 
in  both  these  cases  the  belief  held  by  one 
man  was  of  great  importance  to  other 
men.  But  forasmuch  as  no  belief  held  by 
one  man,  however  seemingly  trivial  the 
belief,  and  however  obscure  the  believer, 
is  ever  actually  insignificant  or  without 
its  effect  on  the  fate  of  mankind,  we  have 
no  choice  but  to  extend  our  judgment  to 
all  cases  of  belief  whatever.  Belief,  that 
sacred  faculty  which  prompts  the  decis- 
ions of  our  will,  and  knits  into  harmonious 
working  all  the  compacted  energies  of 
our  being,  is  ours  not  for  ourselves,  but 
for  humanity.  It  is  rightly  used  on  truths 
which  have  been  established  by  long  ex- 
perience and  waiting  toil,  and  which  have 
stood  in  the  fierce  light  of  free  and  fear- 
less questioning.  Then  it  helps  to  bind 
men  together,  and  to  strengthen  and  di- 
rect their  common  action.  It  is  dese- 
crated when  given  to  unproved  and  un- 
questioned statements,  for  the  solace  and 
private  pleasure  of  the  believer ;  to  add 
a  tinsel  splendor  to  the  plain  straight  road 
of  our  life  and  display  a  bright  mirage  be- 
yond it ;  or  even  to  drown  the  common 
sorrows  of  our  kind  by  a  self-deception 
which  allows  them  not  only  to  cast  down, 
but  also  to  degrade  us.  Whoso  would 
deserve  well  of  his  fellows  in  this  matter 
will  guard  the  purity  of  his  belief  with  a 
very  fanaticism  of  jealous  care,  lest  at  any 
time  it  should  rest  on  an  unworthy  object, 
and  catch  a  stain  which  can  never  be 
wiped  away. 

It  is  not  only  the  leader  of  men,  states- 
man, philosopher,  or  poet,  that  owes  this 
bounden  duty  to  mankind.  Every  rustic 
who  delivers  in  the  village  alehouse  his 
slow,  infrequent  sentences,  may  help  to 
kill  or  keep  alive  the  fatal  superstitions 


which  clog  his  race.  Every  hard-worked 
wife  of  an  artisan  may  transmit  to  her 
children  beliefs  which  shall  knit  society 
together,  or  rend  it  in  pieces.  No  sim- 
plicity of  mind,  no  obscurity  of  station, 
can  escape  the  universal  duty  of  ques- 
tioning all  that  we  believe. 

It  is  true  that  this  duty  is  a  hard  one, 
and  the  doubt  which  comes  out  of  it  is 
often  a  very  bitter  thing.  It  leaves  us 
bare  and  powerless  where  we  thought 
that  we  were  safe  and  strong.  To  know 
all  about  anything  is  to  know  how  to  deal 
with  it  under  all  circumstances.  We  feel 
much  happier  and  more  secure  when  we 
think  we  know  precisely  what  to  do,  no 
matter  what  happens,  than  when  we  have 
lost  our  way  and  do  not  know  where  to 
turn.  And  if  we  have  supposed  ourselves 
to  know  all  about  anything,  and  to  be 
capable  of  doing  what  is  fit  in  regard  to 
it,  we  naturally  do  not  like  to  find  that 
we  are  really  ignorant  and  powerless,  that 
we  have  to  begin  again  at  the  beginning, 
and  try  to  learn  what  the  thing  is  arid  how 
it  is  to  be  dealt  with — if  indeed  anything 
can  be  learnt  about  it.  It  is  the  sense  of 
power  attached  to  a  sense  of  knowledge 
that  makes  men  desirous  of  believing,  and 
afraid  of  doubting. 

This  sense  of  power  is  the  highest  and 
best  of  pleasures  when  the  belief  on  which 
it  is  founded  is  a  true  belief,  and  has  been 
fairly  earned  by  investigation.  For  then 
we  may  justly  feel  that  it  is  common 
property,  and  holds  good  for  others  as 
well  as  for  ourselves.  Then  we  may  be 
glad,  not  that  /  have  learned  secrets  by 
which  I  am  safer  and  stronger,  but  that 
we  men  have  got  mastery  over  more  of 
the  world ;  and  we  shall  be  strong,  not 
for  ourselves,- but  in  the  name  of  Man  and 
in  his  strength.  But  if  the  belief  has  been 
accepted  on  insufficient  evidence,  the 
pleasure  is  a  stolen  one.  Not  only  does 
it  deceive  ourselves  by  giving  us  a  sense 
of  power  which  we  do  not  really  possess, 
but  it  is  sinful,  because  it  is  stolen  in  de- 
fiance of  our  duty  to  mankind.  That 
duty  is  to  guard  ourselves  from  such  be- 
liefs as  from  a  pestilence,  which  may 
shortly  master  our  own  body  and  then 
spread  to  the  rest  of  the  town.  What 
would  be  thought  of  one  who,  for  the 
sake  of  a  sweet  fruit,  should  deliberately 
run  the  risk  of  bringing  a  plague  upon 
his  family  and  his  neighbors  ? 

And,  as  in  other  such  cases,  it  is  not 
the  risk  only  which  has  to  be  considered  ; 
for  a  bad  action  is  always  bad  at  the  time 
when  it  is  done,  no  matter  what  happens 
afterward.  Every  time  we  let  ourselves  be- 


28    [318] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


lieve  for  unworthy  reasons,  we  weaken  our 
powers  of  self-control,  of  doubting,  of  ju- 
dicially and  fairly  weighing  >  evidence. 
We  all  suffer  severely  enough  from  the 
maintenance  and  support  of  false  beliefs 
and  the  fatally  wrong  actions  which  they 
lead  to,  and  the  evil  born  when  one  such 
belief  is  entertained  is  great  and  wide. 
But  a  greater  and  wider  evil  arises  when 
the  credulous  character  is  maintained 
and  supported,  when  a  habit  of  believing 
for  unworthy  reasons  is  fostered  and 
made  permanent.  If  I  steal  money  from 
any  person,  there  may  be  no  harm  done 
by  the  mere  transfer  of  possession ;  he 
may  not  feel  the  loss,  or  it  may  prevent 
him  from  using  the  money  badly.  But  I 
cannot  help  doing  this  great  wrong  to- 
ward Man,  that  I  make  myself  dishonest. 
What  hurts  society  is  not  that  it  should 
lose  its  property,  but  that  it  should  be- 
come a  den  of  thieves ;  for  then  it  must 
cease  to  be  society.  This  is  why  we 
ought  not  to  do  evil  that  good  may  come  ; 
for  at  any  rate  this  great  evil  has  come, 
that  we  have  done  evil  and  are  made 
wicked  thereby.  In  like  manner,  if  I  let 
myself  believe  anything  on  insufficient  ev- 
idence, there  may  be  no  great  harm  done 
by  the  mere  belief ;  it  may  be  true  after 
all,  or  I  may  never  have  occasion  to  ex- 
hibit it  in  outward  acts.  But  I  cannot 
help  doing  this  great  wrong  toward  Man, 
that  I  make  myself  credulous.  The  danger 
to  society  is  riot  merely  that  it  should  be- 
lieve wrong  things,  though  that  is  great 
enough  ;  but  that  it  should  become  cred- 
ulous, and  lose  the  habit  of  testing  things 
and  inquiring  into  them ;  for  then  it 
must  sink  back  into  savagery. 

The  harm  which  is  done  by  credulity  in 
a  man  is  not  confined  to  the  fostering  of 
a  credulous  character  in  others,  and  con- 
sequent support  of  false  beliefs.  Habit- 
ual want  of  care  about  what  I  believe 
leads  to  habitual  want  of  care  in  others 
about  the  truth  of  what  is  told  to  me. 
Men  speak  the  truth  to  one  another  when 
each  reveres  the  truth  in  his  own  mind 
and  in  the  other's  mind  ;  but  how  shall 
my  friend  revere  the  truth  in  my  mind 
when  I  myself  am  careless  about  it,  when 
I  believe  things  because  I  want  to  believe 
them,  and  because  they  are  comforting 
and  pleasant?  Will  he  not  learn  to  cry, 
'  Peace,'  to  me,  when  there  is  no  peace  ? 
By  such  a  course  I  shall  surround  myself 
with  a  thick  atmosphere  of  falsehood  and 
fraud,  and  in  that  I  must  live.  It  may 
matter  little  to  me,  in  rny  cloud-castle  of 
sweet  illusions  and  darling  lies  ;  but  it 
matters  much  to  Man  that  I  have  made 


my  neighbors  ready  to  deceive.  The 
credulous  man  is  father  to  the  liar  and 
the  cheat ;  he  lives  in  the  bosom  of  this 
his  family,  and  it  is  no  marvel  if  he  should 
become  even  as  they  are.  So  closely  are 
our  duties  knit  together,  that  whoso  shall 
keep  the  whole  law,  and  yet  offend  in  one 
point,  he  is  guilty  of  all. 

To  sum  up  :  it  is  wrong  always,  every- 
where and  for  any  one,  to  believe  any- 
thing upon  insufficient  evidence. 

If  a  man,  holding  a  belief  which  he 
was  taught  in  childhood  or  persuaded  of 
afterward,  keeps  clown  and  pushes  away 
any  doubts  which  arise  about  it  in  his 
mind,  purposely  avoids  the  reading  of 
books  and  the  company  of  men  that  call 
in  question  or  discuss  it,  and  regards  as 
impious  those  questions  which  cannot 
easily  be  asked  without  disturbing  it — 
the  life  of  that  man  is  one  long  sin 
against  mankind. 

If  this  judgment  seems  harsh  when  ap- 
plied to  those  simple  souls  who  have, 
never  known  better,  who  have  been 
brought  up  from  the  cradle  with  a  horror 
of  doubt,  and  taught  that  their  eternal 
welfare  depends  on  what  they  believe, 
then  it  leads  to  the  very  serious  question, 
Who  hath  made  Israel  to  sin  ? 

It  may  be  permitted  me  to  fortify  this 
judgment  with  the  sentence  of  Milton — 

'  A  man  may  be  a  heretic  in  the  truth  ; 
and  if  he  believe  things  only  because  his 
pastor  says  so,  or  the  assembly  so  de- 
termine, without  knowing  other  reason, 
though  his  belief  be  true,  yet  the  very 
truth  he  holds  becomes  his  heresy.' 

And  with  this  famous  aphorism  of 
Coleridge — 

'  He  who  begins  by  loving  Christianity 
better  than  Truth,  will  proceed  by  loving 
his  own  sect  or  Church  better  than  Chris- 
tianity, and  end  in  loving  himself  better 
than  all.' 

Inquiry  into  the  evidence  of  a  doctrine 

is  not  to  be  made  once  for  all,  and  then 

taken  as  finally  settled.     It  is  never  law- 

,  f ul  to  stifle  a  doubt ;  for  either  it  can  be 

i  honestly  answered  by  means  of   the  in- 

'  quiry  already  made,  or  else  it  proves  that 

the  inquiry  was  not  complete. 

•  But,'  says  one,  '  I  am  a  busy  man  ; 
I  have  no  time  for  the  long  course  of 
study  which  would  be  necessary  to  make 
me  in  any  degree  a  competent  judge  of 
certain  questions,  or  even  able  to  under- 
stand the  nature  of  the  arguments.' 
Then  he  should  have  no  time  to  believe. 

77.  The  Weight  of  Authority.  —  Are 
we  then  to  become  universal  skeptics, 
doubting  everything,  afraid  always  to  put 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[310]    29 


one  foot  before  the  other  until  we  have 
personally  tested  the  firmness  of  the 
road  ?  Are  we  to  deprive  ourselves  of 
the  help  and  guidance  of  that  vast  body 
of  knowledge  which  is  daily  growing 
upon  the  world,  because  neither  we  nor 
any  other  one  person  can  possibly  test  a 
hundredth  part  of  it  by  immediate  exper- 
iment or  observation,  and  because  it 
would  not  be  completely  proved  if  we 
did  ?  Shall  we  steal  and  tell  lies  because 
we  have  had  no  personal  experience  wide 
enough  to  justify  the  belief  that  it  is 
wrong  to  do  so  ? 

There  is  no  practical  danger  that  such 
consequences  will  ever  follow  from  scru- 
pulous care  and  self-control  in  the  matter 
of  belief.  Those  men  who  have  most 
nearly  done  their  duty  in  this  respect 
have  found  that  certain  great  principles, 
and  these  most  fitted  for  the  guidance  of 
life,  have  stood  out  more  and  more  clearly 
in  proportion  to  the  care  and  honesty 
with  which  they  were  tested,  and  have  ac- 
quired HI  this  way  a  practical  certainty. 
The  beliefs  about  right  and  wrong  which 
guide  our  actions  in  dealing  with  men  in 
society,  and  the  beliefs  about  physical 
nature  which  guide  our  actions  in  dealing 
with  animate  and  inanimate  bodies,  these 
never  suffer  from  investigation  ;  they  can 
take  care  of  themselves,  without  being 
propped  up  by 'acts  of  faith,"  the  clam- 
or of  paid  advocates,  or  the  suppression 
of  contrary  evidence.  Moreover  there 
are  many  cases  in  which  it  is  our  duty  to 
act  upon  probabilities,  although  the  evi- 
dence is  not  such  as  to  justify  present  be- 
lief ;  because  it  is  precisely  by  such  ac- 
tion, and  by  observation  of  its  fruits,  that 
evidence  is  got  which  may  justify  future 
belief.  So  that  we  have  no  reason  to 
fear  lest  a  habit  of  conscientious  inquiry 
should  paralyze  the  actions  of  our  daily 
life. 

But  because  it  is  not  enough  to  say, 
1  It  is  wrong  to  believe  on  unworthy  evi- 
dence,' without  saying  also  what  evidence 
is  worthy,  we  shall  now  go  on  to  inquire 
under  what  circumstances  it  is  lawful  to 
believe  on  the  testimony  of  others ;  and 
then,  further,  we  shall  inquire  more  gen- 
erally when  and  why  we  may  believe  that 
which  goes  beyond  our  own  experience, 
or  even  beyond  the  experience  of  man- 
kind. 

In  what  cases,  then,  let  us  ask  in  the 
first  place,  is  the  testimony  of  a  man  un- 
worthy of  belief?  He  may  say  that 
which  is  untrue  either  knowingly  or  un- 
knowingly. In  the  first  case  he  is  lying, 
and  his  moral  character. is  to  blame ;  in 


the  second  case  he  is  ignorant  or  mistak- 
en, and  it  is  only  his  knowledge  or  his 
judgment  which  is  in  fault.  In  order 
that  we  may  have  the  right  to  accept  his 
testimony  as  ground  fc:  believing  what 
he  says,  we  must  have  reasonable 
grounds  for  trusting  his  veracity,  that  he 
is  really  trying  to  speak  the  truth  so  far 
as  he  knows  it ;  his  knowledge,  that  he 
has  had  opportunities  of  knowing  the 
truth  about  this  matter  ;  and  \&s>  judgment* 
that  he  has  made  proper  use  of  those 
opportunities  in  coming  to  the  conclusion 
which  he  affirms. 

However  plain  and  obvious  these  rea- 
sons may  be,  so  that  no  man  of  ordinary 
intelligence,  reflecting  upon  the  matter, 
could  fail  to  arrive  at  them,  it  is  never- 
theless true  that  a  great  many  persons  do 
habitually  disregard  them  in  weighing 
testimony.  Of  the  two  questions,  equally 
important  to  the  trustworthiness  of  a  wit- 
ness, '  Is  he  dishonest  ?  '  and  '  May  he  be 
mistaken  ?  '  the  majority  of  mankind  are 
perfectly  satisfied  if  one  can,  with  some 
show  of  probability,  be  answered  in  the 
negative.  The  excellent  moral  character 
of  a  man  is  alleged  as  ground  for  accept- 
ing his  statements  about  things  which  he 
cannot  possibly  have  known.  A  Moham- 
medan, for  example,  will  tell  us  that  the 
character  of  his  Prophet  was  so  noble  and 
majestic  that  it  commands  the  reverence' 
even  of  those  who  do  not  believe  in  his 
mission.  So  admirable  was  his  moral 
teaching,  so  wisely  put  together  the  great 
social  machine  which  he  created,  that  his 
precepts  have  not  only  been  accepted  by 
a  great  portion  of  mankind,  but  have 
actually  been  obeyed.  His  institutions' 
have  on  the  one  hand  rescued  the  negro 
from  savagery,  and  on  the  other  hand 
have  taught  civilization  to  the  advancing 
West ;  and  although  the  races  which  held 
the  highest  forms  of  his  faith,  and  most 
fully  embodied  his  mind  and  thought, 
have  all  been  conquered  and  swept  away 
by  barbaric  tribes,  yet  the  history  of  their 
marvellous  attainments  remains  as  an 
imperishable  glory  to  Islam.  Are  we  to 
doubt  the  word  of  a  man  so  great  and  so 
good  ?  Can  we  suppose  that  this  mag- 
nificent genius,  this  splendid  moral  hero, 
has  lied  to  us  about  the  most  solemn  and 
sacred  matters  ?  The  testimony  of  Mo- 
hammed is  clear,  that  there  is  but  one 
God,  and  that  he,  Mohammed,  is  his 
prophet ;  that  if  we  believe  in  him  we  shall 
enjoy  everlasting  felicity,  but  that  if  we 
do  not  we  shall  be  damned.  This  testi- 
mony rests  on  the  most  awful  of  founda- 
tions, the  revelation  of  heaven  itself ;  for 


30    [320] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


was  he  not  visited  by  the  angel  Gabriel, 
as  he  fasted  and  prayed  in  his  desert  cave, 
and  allowed  to  enter  into  the  blessed 
fields  of  Paradise  ?  Surely  God  is  God 
and  Mohammed  is  the  Prophet  of  God . 

What  should  we  answer  to  this  Mus- 
sulman ?  First,  no  doubt,  we  should  be 
tempted  to  take  exception  against  his 
view  of  the  character  of  the  Prophet  and 
the  uniformly  beneficial  influence  of 
Islam  :  before  we  could  go  with  him  alto- 
gether in  these  matters  it  might  seem 
that  we  should  have  to  forget  many  terri- 
ble things  of  which  we  have  heard  or 
read.  But  if  we  chose  to  grant  him  all 
these  assumptions,  for  the  sake  of  argu- 
ment, and  because  it  is  difficult  both  for 
the  faithful  and  for  infidels  to  discuss 
them  fairly  and  without  passion,  still  we 
should  have  something  to  say  which 
takes  away  the  ground  of  his  belief,  and 
therefore  shows  that  it  is  wrong  to  enter- 
tain it.  Namely  this:  the  character  of 
Mohammed  is  excellent  evidence  that  he 
was  honest  and  spoke  the  truth  so  far  as 
he  knew  it ;  but  it  is  no  evidence  at  all 
that  he  knew  what  the  truth  was.  What 
means  could  he  have  of  knowing  that  the 
form  which  appeared  to  him  to  be  the 
angel  Gabriel  was  not  a  hallucination, 
and  that  his  apparent  visit  to  Paradise 
was  not  a  dream  ?  Grant  that  he  him- 
self was  fully  persuaded  and  honestly  be- 
lieved that  he  had  the  guidance  of  heav- 
en, and  was  the  vehicle  of  a  supernatu- 
ral revelation,  how  could  he  know  that 
this  strong  conviction  was  not  a  mistake  ? 
Let  us  put  ourselves  in  his  place  ;  we 
shall  find  that  the  more  completely  we 
endeavor  to  realize  what  passed  through 
his  mind,  the  more  clearly  we  shall  per- 
ceive that  the  Prophet  could  have  had  no 
adequate  ground  for  the  belief  in  his  own 
inspiration.  It  is  most  probable  that  he 
himself  never  doubted  of  the  matter,  or 
thought  of  asking  the  question  ;  but  we 
are  in  the  position  of  those  to  whom  the 
question  has  been  asked,  and  who  are 
bound  to  answer  it.  It  is  known  to  medi- 
cal observers  that  solitude  and  want  of 
food  are  powerful  means  of  producing 
delusion  and  of  fostering  a  tendency  to 
mental  disease.  Let  us  suppose,  then, 
that  I,  like  Mohammed,  go  into  desert 
places  to  fast  and  pray ;  what  things  can 
happen  to  me  which  will  give  me  the  right 
to  believe  that  I  am  divinely  inspired? 
Suppose  that  I  get  information,  appar- 
ently from  a  celestial  visitor,  which  upon 
being  tested  is  found  to  be  correct.  I 
cannot  be  sure,  in  the  first  place,  that  the 
celestial  visitor  is  not  a  figment  of  my 


own  mind,  and  that  the  information  did" 
not  come  to  me,  unknown  at  the  time  to 
my  consciousness,  through  some  subtle 
channel  of  sense.  But  if  my  visitor  were 
a  real  visitor,  and  for  a  long  time  gave 
me  information  which  was  found  to  be 
trustworthy,  this  would  indeed  be  good 
ground  for  trusting  him  in  the  future  as 
to  such  matters  as  fall  within  human 
powers  of  verification ;  but  it  would  not 
be  ground  for  trusting  his  testimony  as 
to  any  other  matters.  For  although  his 
tested  character  would  justify  me  in  be- 
lieving that  he  spoke  the  truth  so  far  as 
he  knew,  yet  the  same  question  would 
present  itself — what  ground  is  there  for 
supposing  that  he  knows  ? 

Even  if  my  supposed  visitor  had  given 
me  such  information,  subsequently  verifi- 
ed by  me,  as  proved  him  to  have  means 
of  knowledge  about  verifiable  matters  far 
exceeding  my  own  ;  this  would  not  jus- 
tify me  in  believing  what  he  said  about 
matters  that  are  not  at  present  capable 
of  verification  by  man.  It  would  be 
ground  for  interesting  conjecture,  and  for 
the  hope  that,  as  the  fruit  of  our  patient 
inquiry,  we  might  by  and  by  attain  to 
such  a  means  of  verification  as  should 
rightly  turn  conjecture  into  belief.  For 
belief  belongs  to  man,  and  to  the  guidance 
of  human  affairs  :  no  belief  is  real  unless 
it  guide  our  actions,  and  those  very  actions 
supply  a  test  of  its  truth. 

But,  it  may  be  replied,  the  acceptance 
of  Islam  as  a  system  is  just  that  action 
which  is  prompted  by  belief  in  the  mis- 
sion of  the  Prophet,  and  which  will  serve 
for  a  test  of  its  truth.  Is  it  possible  to  be- 
lieve  that  a  system  which  has  succeeded 
so  well  is  really  founded  upon  a' delusion  ? 
Not  only  have  individual  saints  found  joy 
and  peace  in  believing,  and  verified  those 
spiritual  experiences  which  are  promised 
to  the  faithful,  but  nations  also  have 
been  raised  from  savagery  or  barbarism  to 
a  higher  social  state.  Surely  we  are  at 
liberty  to  say  that  the  belief  has  been 
acted  upon,  and  that  it  has  been  verified. 

It  requires,  however,  but  little  consid- 
eration to  show  that  what  has  really  been 
verified  is  not  at  all  the  supernal  charac- 
ter of  the  Prophet's  mission,  or  the  trust- 
worthiness of  his  authority  in  matters 
which  we  ourselves  cannot  test,  but  only 
his  practical  wisdom  in  certain  very  mun- 
dane things.  The  fact  that  believers  have 
found  joy  and  peace  in  believing  gives  us 
the  right  to  say  that  the  doctrine  is  a  com- 
fortable doctrine,  and  pleasant  to  the  soul ; 
but  it  does  not  give  us  the  right  to  say 
that  it  is  true.  And  the  question  which- 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[321]    31 


our  conscience  is  always  asking-  about 
that  which  we  are  tempted  to  believe  is 
not,  '  Is  it  comfortable  and  pleasant  ? ' 
but,  '  Is  it  true  ? '  That  the  Prophet 
preached  certain  doctrines,  and  predicted 
that  spiritual  comfort  would  be  found  in 
them,  proves  only  his  sympathy  with  hu- 
man nature  and  his  knowledge  of  it ;  but 
it  does  not  prove  his  superhuman  knowl- 
edge of  theology. 

And  if  we  admit  for  the  sake  of  argu- 
ment (for  it  seems  that  we  cannot  do 
more)  that  the  progress  made  by  Moslem 
nations  in  certain  cases  was  really  due  to 
the  system  formed  and  sent  forth  into  the 
the  world  by  Mohammed,  we  are  not  at 
liberty  to  conclude  from  this  that  he  was 
inspired  to  declare  the  truth  about  things 
which  we  cannot  verify.  We  are  only  at 
liberty  to  infer  the  excellence  of  his  moral 
precepts,  or  of  the  means  which  he  de- 
vised for  so  working  upon  men  as  to  get 
them  obeyed,  or  of  the  social  and  politi- 
cal machinery  which  he  set  up.  And  it 
would  require  a  great  amount  of  careful 
examination  into  the  history  of  those  na- 
tions to  determine  which  of  these  things 
had  the  greater  share  in  the  result.  So 
that  here  again  it  is  the  Prophet's  knowl- 
edge of  human  nature,  and  his  sympathy 
with  it,  that  are  verified ;  not  his  divine 
inspiration,  or  his  knowledge  of  theol- 
ogy- 

If  there  were  only  one  Prophet,  indeed, 
it  might  well  seem  a  difficult  and  even  an 
ungracious  task  to  decide  upon  what 
points  we  would  trust  him,  and  on  what 
we  would  doubt  his  authority ;  seeing 
what  help  and  furtherance  all  men  have 
gained  in  all  ages  from  those  who  saw 
more  clearly,  who  felt  more  strongly,  and 
who  sought  the  truth  with  more  single 
heart  than  their  weaker  brethren.  But 
there  is  not  only  one  Prophet ;  and  while 
the  consent  of  many  upon  that  which,  as 
men,  they  had  real  means  of  knowing  and 
did  know,  has  endured  to  the  end,  and 
been  honorably  built  into  the  great  fabric 
of  human  knowledge,  the  diverse  witness 
of  some  about  that  which  they  did  not 
and  could  not  know  remains  as  a  warn- 
ing to  us  that  to  exaggerate  the  prophetic 
authority  is  to  misuse  it,  and  to  dishonor 
those"  who  have  sought  only  to  help  and 
further  us  after  their  power.  It  is  hardly 
in  human  nature  that  a  man  should  quite 
accurately  gauge  the  limits  of  his  own  in- 
sight ;  but  it  is  the  duty  of  those  who 
profit  by  his  work  to  consider  carefully 
where  he  may  have  been  carried  beyond 
it.  If  we  must  needs  embalm  his  possi- 
ble errors,  along  with  his  solid  achieve- 


ments, and  use  his  authority  as  an  excuse 
for  believing  what  he  cannot  have  known, 
we  make  of  his  goodness  an  occasion  to 
sin. 

To  consider  only  one  other  such  wit- 
ness :  the  followers  of  the  Buddha  have 
at  least  as  much  right  to  appeal  to  indi- 
vidual and  social  experience  in  support  of 
the  authority  of  the  Eastern  saviour.  The 
special  mark  of  his  religion,  it  is  said,  that 
in  which  it  has  never  been  surpassed,  is 
the  comfort  and  consolation  which  it  gives 
to  the  sick  and  sorrowful,  the  tender  sym- 
pathy with  which  it  soothes  and  assuages 
all  the  natural  griefs  of  men.  And  surely 

>  triumph  of  social  morality  can  be 
greater  or  nobler  than  that  which  has 
kept  nearly  half  the  human  race  from 
persecuting  in  the  name  of  religion.  If 
we  are  to  trust  the  accounts  of  his  early 
followers,  he  believed  himself  to  have 
come  upon  earth  with  a  divine  and  cosmic 
mission  to  set  rolling  the  wheel  of  the 
law.  Being  a  prince,  he  divested  himself 
of  his  kingdom,  and  of  his  free  will  be- 
came acquainted  with  misery,  that  he 
might  learn  how  to  meet  and  subdue  it. 
Could  such  a  man  speak  falsely  about 
solemn  things  ?  And  as  for  his  knowl- 
edge, was  he  not  a  man  miraculous  with 
powers  more  than  man's  ?  He  was  born 
of  woman  without  the  help  of  man ;  he 
rose  into  the  air  and  was  transfigured  be- 
fore his  kinsmen  ;  at  last  he  went  up 
bodily  into  heaven  from  the  top  of  Adam's 
Peak.  Is  not  his  word  to  be  believed  in 
when  he  testifies  of  heavenly  things  ? 

If  there  were  only  he,  and  no  other, 
with  such  claims!  But  there  is  Mo- 
hammed with  his  testimony ;  we  cannot 
choose  but  listen  to  them  both.  The 
Prophet  tells  us  that  there  is  one  God,  and 
that  we  shall  live  forever  in  joy  or  misery, 
according  as  we  believe  in  the  Prophet  or 
not.  The  Buddha  says  that  there  is  no 
God,  and  that  we  shall  be  annihilated  by 
and  by  if  we  are  good  enough.  Both 
cannot  be  infallibly  inspired  ;  one  or  the 
other  must  have  been  the  victim  of  a  de- 
lusion, and  thought  he  knew  that  which, 
he  really  did  not  know.  Who  shall  dare 
to  say  which  ?  and  how  can  we  justify 
ourselves  in  believing  that  the  other  was 
not  also  deluded  ? 

We  are  led,  then,  to  these  judgments 
following.  The  goodness  and  greatness 
of  a  man  do  not  justify  us  in  accepting  a 
belief  upon  the  warrant  of  his  authority, 
unless  there  are  reasonable  grounds  for 
supposing  that  he  knew  the  truth  of  what 
he  was  saying.  And  there  can  be  no 
grounds  for  supposing  that  a  man  knows 


82     [322] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


that  which  we,   without   ceasing  to  be 
men,  could  not  be  supposed  to  verify. 

If  a  chemist  tells  me,  who  am  no 
chemist,  that  a  certain  substance  can  be 
made  by  putting  together  other  substances 
in  certain  proportions  and  subjecting  them 
to  a  known  process,  I  am  quite  justified 
in  believing  this  upon  his  authority,  un- 
less I  know  anything  against  his  charac- 
ter or  his  judgment.  For  his  professional 
training  is  one  which  tends  to  encourage 
veracity  and  the  honest  pursuit  of  truth, 
and  to  produce  a  dislike  of  hasty  conclu- 
sions and  sioveniy  investigation.  And  I 
have  reasonable  ground  for  supposing 
that  he  knows  the  truth  of  what  he  is  say- 
ing, for  although  I  am  ~no  chemist,  I  can 
be  made  to  understand  so  much  of  the 
methods  and  processes  of  the  science  as 
makes  it  conceivable  to  me  that,  without 
ceasing  to  be  man,  I  might  verify  the 
statement.  I  may  never 'actually  verify 
it,  or  even  see  any  experiment  which  goes 
toward  verifying  it ;  but  still  I  have  quite 
Reason  enough  to  justify  me  in  believing 
that  the  verification  is  within  the  reach  of 
human  appliances  and  powers,  and  in 
particular  that  it  has  been  actually  per- 
formed by  my  informant.  His  result, 
the  belief  to  which  he  has  been  led  by  his 
inquiries,  is  valid  not  only  for  himself 
but  for  others  ;  it  is  watched  and  tested 
by  those  who  are  working  in  the  same 
ground  and  who  know  that  no  greater 
service  can  be  rendered  to  science  than 
the  purification  of  accepted  results  from 
the  errors  which  may  have  crept  into 
them.  It  is  in  this  way  that  the  re- 
sult becomes  common  property,  a  right 
object  of  belief,  which  is  a  social  affair 
and  matter  of  public  business.  Thus  it 
is  to  be  observed  that  his  authority  is 
valid  because  there  are  those  who  ques- 
tion it  and  verify  it ;  that  it  is  precisely  this 
process  of  examining  and  purifying  that 
keeps  alive  among  investigators  the  love 
of  that  which  shall  stand  all  possible  tests, 
the  sense  of  public  responsibility  as  of 
those  whose  work,  if  well  done,  shall  re- 
main as  the  enduring  heritage  of  mankind. 
But  if  my  chemist  tells  me  that  an  atom 
of  oxygen  has  existed  unaltered  in  weight 
and  rate  of  vibration  throughout  all  time, 
I  have  no  right  to  believe  this  on  his 
authority,  for  it  is  a  thing  which  he  can- 
not know  without  ceasing  to  be  man.  He 
may  quite  honestly  believe  that  this  state- 
ment is  a  fair  inference  from  his  experi- 
ments, but  in  that  case  his  judgment  is  at 
fault.  A  very  simple  consideration  of  the 
character  of  experiments  would  show  him 
that  they  never  can  lead  to  results  of  such 


a  kind;  that  being  themselves  only  ap- 
proximate and  limited,  they  cannot  give 
us  knowledge  which  is  exact  and  univer- 
sal. No  eminence  of  character  and  genius 
can  give  a  man  authority  enough  to  jus- 
tify us  in  believing  him  when  lie  makes 
statements  implying  exact  or  universal 
knowledge. 

Again,  an  Arctic  explorer  may  tell  us 
that  in  a  given  latitude  and  longitude  he 
has  experienced  such  and  such  a  degree 
of  cold,  that  the  sea  was  of  such  a  depth, 
and  the  ice  of  such  a  character.  We 
should  be  quite  right  to  believe  him,  in 
the  absence  of  any  stain  upon  his  veracity. 
It  is  conceivable  that  we  might,  without 
ceasing  to  be  men,  go  there  and  verify 
his  statement;  it  can  be  tested  by  the 
witness  of  his  companions,  and  there  is 
adequate  ground  for  supposing  that  he 
knows  the  truth  of  what  he  is  saying. 
But  if  an  old  whaler  tells  us  that  the  ice 
is  three  hundred  feet  thick  all  the  way  up 
to  the  Pole,  we  shall  not  be  justified  in 
believing  him.  For  although  the  state- 
ment may  be  capable  of  verification  by 
man,  it  is  certainly  not  capable  of  verifi- 
cation by  him,  with  any  means  and  appli- 
ances which  he  has  possessed ;  and  he 
must  have  persuaded  himself  of  the  truth 
of  it  by  some  means  which  does  not  at- 
tach any  credit  to  his  testimony.  Even 
if,  therefore,  the  matter  affirmed  is  within' 
the  reach"  of  human  knowledge,  we  have 
no  right  to  accept  it  upon  authority  unless 
it  is  within  the  reach  of  our  informant's ' 
knowledge. 

What  shall  we  say  of  that  authority, 
more  venerable  and  august  than  any  in-' 
dividual  witness,  the  time-honored  tradi-. 
tion  of  the  human  race  ?  An  atmosphere 
of  beliefs  and  conceptions  has  been1 
formed  by  the  labors  and  struggles  of  our 
forefathers,  which  enables  us  to  breathe 
amid  the  various  and  complex  circum- 
stances of  our  life.  It  is  around  and  about 
us  and  within  us;  we  cannot  think  except' 
in  the  forms  and  processes  of  thought 
which  it  supplies.  Is  it  possible  to  doubt' 
and  to  test  it  ?  and  if  possible,  is  it  right  ? 

We  shall  find  reason  to  answer  that  it 
is  not  only  possible  and  right,  but  our 
bounden  duty ;  that  the  main  purpose  of 
the  tradition  itself  is  to  supply  us  with 
the  means  of  asking  questions,  of  testing 
and  inquiring  into  things;  that  if  we  mis- 
use it,  and  take  it  as  a  collection  of  cut- 
and-dried  statements,  to  be  accepted  with- 
out further  inquiry,  we  are  not  only  in- 
juring ourselves  here,  but  by  refusing  to 
do  our  part  toward  the  building  up  of 
the  fabric  which  shall  be  inherited  by  our 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[323]    S3 


children,  we  are  tending  to  cut  off  our- 
. selves  and  our  race  from  the  human  line. 

Let  us  first  take  care  to  distinguish  a 
.•kind  of  tradition  which  especially  requires 
to  be  examined  and  called  in  question, 
because  it  especially  shrinks  from  inquiry. 
Suppose  that  a  medicine-man  in  Central 
Africa  tells  his  tribe  that  a  certain  power- 
ful medicine  in  his  tent  will  be  propitiated 
if  they  kill  their  catt.le ;  and  that  the  tribe 
believe  him.  Whether  the  medicine  was 
propitiated  or  not,  there  are  no  means  of 
verifying",  but  the  cattle  are  gone.  Still 
the  belief  may  be  kept  up  in  the  tribe  that 
propitiation  has  been  effected  in  this  way  ; 
and  in  a  later  generation  it  will  be  all  the 
easier  for  another  medicine-man  to  per- 
suade them  to  a  similar  act.  Here  the 
only  reason  for  belief  is  that  everybody 
has  believed  the  thing  for  so  long  that  it 
must  be  true.  And  yet  the  belief  was 
founded  on  fraud,  and  has  been  prop- 
agated by  credulity.  That  man  will  un- 
doubtedly do  right,  and  be  a  friend  of 
men  who  shall  call  it  in  question  and  see 
that  there  is  no  evidence  for  it,  help  his 
neighbors  to  see  as  he  does,  and  even,  if 
need  be,  go  into  the  holy  tent  and  break 
the  medicine. 

The  rule,which  should  guide  us  in  such 
cases  is  simple  and  obvious  enough :  that 
the  aggregate  testimony  of  our  neighbors 
is  subject  to  the  same  conditions  as  the 
.testimony  of  any  one  of  them.  Namely, 
we  have  no  right  to  believe  a  thing  true 
because  everybody  says  so,  unless  there 
are  good  grounds  for  believing  that  some 
one  person  at  least  has  the  means  of 
.knowing  what  is  true,  and  is  speaking  the 
truth  so  far  as  he  knows  it.  However 
.many  nations  and  generations  of  men 
Are  brought  into  the  witness-box,  they 
cannot  testify  to  anything  which  they  do 
not  know.  Every  man  who  has  accepted 
the  statement  from  somebody  else,  with- 
out himself  testing  and  verifying  it,  is  out 
of  court ;  his  word  is  worth  nothing  at 
all.  And  when  we  get  back  at  last  to  the 
true  birth  and  beginning  of  the  statement, 
two  serious  questions  must  be  disposed  of 
|n  regard  to  him  who  first  made  it :  was 
fee  mistaken  in  thinking  that  he  knew 
about  this  matter,  or  was  he  lying  ? 

This  last  question  is  unfortunately  a 
very  actual  and  practical  one  even  to  us 
fit  this  day  and  in  this  country.  We 
have  no  occasion  to  go  to  La  Salette,  or 
to  Central  Africa,  or  to  Lourdes,  for  ex- 
amples of  immoral  and  debasing  super- 
stition. It  is  only  too  possible  for  a  child 
to  grow  up  in  London  surrounded  by  an 
Atmosphere  of  beliefs  fit  only  for  the  sav- 


age, which  have  ,in  our  own  time  been 
founded  in  fraud  and  propagated  by  cre- 
dulity. 

Laying  aside,  then,  such  tradition  as  is 
handed  on  without  testing  by  successive 
generations,  let  us  consider  that  which  is 
truly  built  up  out  of  the  common  expe- 
rience of  mankind.  This  great  fabric  is 
for  the  guidance  of  our  thoughts,  and  .• 
through  them  of  our  actions,  both  in  the 
moral  and  in  the  material  world.  In  the 
moral  world,  for  example,  it  gives  us  the 
conceptions  of  right  in  general,  of  justice, 
of  truth,  of  beneficence,  and  the  like. 
These  are  given  as  conceptions,  not  as 
statements  or  propositions ;  they  answer 
to  certain  definite  instincts,  which  are 
certainly  within  us,  however  they  came 
there.  That  it  is  right  to  be  beneficent  is 
matter  of  immediate  personal  experience; 
for  when  a  man  retires  within  himself 
and  there  finds  something,  wider  and 
more  lasting  than  his  solitary  personality 
which  says,  '  I  want  to  do  right,'  as  well, 
as,  '  I  want  to  do  good  to  man,'  he  can 
verify  by  direct  observation  that  one  in?- 
stinct  is  founded  upon  and  agrees  fully 
with  the  other.  And  it  is  his  duty  so  to 
verify  this  and  all  similar  statements. 

The  tradition  says  also,  at  a  definite 
place  and  time,  that  such  and  such  ac- 
tions are  just,  or  true,  or  beneficent.  For 
all  such  rules  a  further  inquiry  is  neces- 
sary, since  they  are  sometimes  established 
by  an  authority  other  than  that  of  the 
moral  sense  founded  on  experience. 
Until  recently,  the  moral  tradition  of  our 
own  country — and  indeed  of  all  Europe 
--taught  that  it  was  beneficent  to  give* 
money  indiscriminately  to  beggars.  But 
the  questioning  of  this  rule,  and  investi- 
gation into  it,  led  men  to  see  that  true 
beneficence  is  that  which  helps  a  man  to 
do  the  work  which  he  is  most  fitted  for, 
not  that  which  keeps  and  encourages  him 
in  idleness  ;  and  that  to  neglect  this  dis- 
tinction in  the  present  is  to  prepare  pau- 
perism and  misery  for  the  future.  By 
this  testing  and  discussion,  not  only  ha'a 
practice  been  purified  and  made  more 
beneficent,  but  the  very  conception  of  be- 
neficence has  been  made  wider  and  wiser. 
Now  here  the  great  social  heirloom  con- 
sists of  two  parts :  the  instinct  of  benefi- 
cence, which  makes  a  certain  side  of  our 
nature,  when  predominant,  wish  to  do 
good  to  men ;  and  the  intellectual  con- 
ception of  beneficence,  which  we  can  com- 
pare with  any  proposed  course  of  conduct 
and  ask,  '  Is  this  beneficent  or  not  ?  '  By 
the  continual  asking  and  answering  :pf 
such  questions  the  conception  grows  in 


34    [324] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


breadth  and  distinctness,  and  the  instinct 
•becomes  strengthened  and  purified.  It 
appears  then  that  the  great  use  of  the 
conception,  the  intellectual  part  of  the 
heirloom,  is  to  enable  us  to  ask  questions  ; 
that  it  grows  and  is  kept  straight  by 
means  of  these  questions ;  and  if  we  do 
not  use  it  for  that  purpose  we  shall  grad- 
ually  lose  it  altogether,  and  be  left  with  a 
mere  code  of  regulations  which  cannot 
rightly  be  called  morality  at  all. 
•  Such  considerations  apply  even  more  ob- 
viously and  clearly,  if  possible,  to  the  store 
of  beliefs  and  conceptions  which  our 
fathers  have  amassed  for  us  in  respect  of 
the  material  world.  We  are  ready  to 
laugh  at  the  rule  of  thumb  of  the  Austral- 
ian, who  continues  to  tie  his  hatchet  to 
the  side  of  the  handle,  although  the  Bir- 
mingham fitter  has  made  a  hole  on  pur- 
pose for  him  to  put  the  handle  in.  His 
people  have  tied  up  hatchets  so  for  ages  : 
who  is  he  that  he  should  set  himself  up 
against  their  wisdom  ?  He  has  sunk  so 
low  that  he  cannot  do  what  some  of  them 
•must  have  done  in  the  far  distant  past — 
call  in  question  an  established  usage,  and 
invent  or  learn  something  better  Yet 
here,  in  the  dim  beginning  of  knowledge, 
where  science  and  art  are  one,  we  find 
only  the  same  simple  rule  which  applies 
to  the  highest  and  deepest  growths  of 
that  cosmic  Tree ;  to  its  loftiest  flower- 
tipped  branches  as  well  as  to  the  pro- 
foundest  of  its  hidden  roots  ;  the  rule, 
namely,  that  what  is  stored  up  and  hand- 
ed down  to  us  is  rightly  used  by  those 
who  act  as  the  makers  acted,  when  they 
stored  it  up ;  those  who  use  it  to  ask  fur- 
ther questions,  to  examine,  to  investigate  ; 
who  try  honestly  and  solemnly  to  find 
out  what  is  the  right  way  of  looking  at 
things  and  of  dealing  with  them. 

A  question  rightly  asked  is  already 
half  answered,  said  Jacobi ;  we  may  add 
that  the  method  of  solution  is  the  other 
half  of  the  answer,  and  that  the  actual 
result  counts  for  nothing  by  the  side  of 
these  two.  For  an  example  let  us  go 
to  the  telegraph,  where  theory  and  prac- 
tice, grown  each  to  years  of  discretion, 
are  marvelously  wedded  for  the  fruitful 
service  of  men.  Ohm  found  that  the 
strength  of  an  electric  current  is  directly 
proportional  to  the  strength  of  the  bat- 
tery which  produces  it,  and  inversely  as 
the  length  of  the  wire  along  which  it  has 
to  travel.  This  is  called  Ohm's  law  ;  but 
the  result,  regarded  as  a  statement  to  be 
believed,  is  not  the  valuable  part  of  it. 
The  first  half  is  the  question  :  what  rela- 
tion holds  good  between  these  quanti- 


ties  ?  So  put,  the  question  involves  al- 
ready the  conception  of  strength  of  cur- 
rent, and  of  strength  of  battery,  as  quan- 
tities to  be  measured  and  compared  ;  it 
hints  clearly  that  these  are  the  things  to 
be  attended  to  in  the  study  of  electric 
currents.  The  second  half  is  the  method 
of  investigation  ;  how  to  measure  these 
quantities,  what  instruments  are  required 
for  the  experiment,  and  how  are  they  to 
be  used?  The  student  who  begins  to 
learn  about  electricity  is  not  asked  to  be* 
lieve  in  Ohm's  law  :  he  is  made  to  under- 
stand the  question,  he  is  placed  before 
the  apparatus,  and  he  is  taught  to  verify 
it.  He  learns  to  do  things,  not  to  think 
he  knows  things  ;  to  use  instruments  and 
to  ask  questions,  not  to  accept  a  tradi- 
tional statement.  The  question  which 
required  a  genius  to  ask  it  rightly  is  an- 
swered by  a  tyro.  If  Ohm's  law  were 
suddenly  lost  and  forgotten  by  all  men, 
while  the  question  and  the  method  of  so- 
lution remained,  the  result  could  be  redis- 
covered in  an  hour.  But  the  result  by  it- 
self, if  known  to  a  people  who  could  not 
comprehend  the  value  of  the  question  or 
the  means  of  solving  it,  would  be  like  a 
watch  in  the  hands  of  a  savage  who 
could  not  wind  it  up,  or  an  iron  steam- 
ship worked  by  Spanish  engineers. 

In  regard,  then,  to  the  sacred  tradition 
of  humanity,  we  learn  that  it  consists,  not 
in  propositions  or  statements  which  are 
to  be  accepted  and  believed  on  the  au- 
thority of  the  tradition,  but  in  questions 
rightly  asked,  in  conceptions  which  en- 
able us  to  ask  further  questions,  and  in 
methods  of  answering  questions.  The 
value  of  all  these  things  depends  on  their 
being  tested  day  by  day.  The  very  sa- 
credness  of  the  precious  deposit  imposes 
upon  us  the  duty  and  the  responsibility  of 
testing  it,  of  purifying  and  enlarging  it  to 
the  utmost  of  our  power.  He  who  makes 
use  of  its  results  to  stifle  his  own  doubts, 
or  to  hamper  the  inquiry  of  others,  is 
guilty  of  a  sacrilege  which  centuries  shall 
never  be  able  to  blot  out.  When  the  la- 
bors and  questionings  of  honest  and  brave 
men  shall  have  built  up  the  fabric  of 
known  truth  to  a  glory  which  we  in  this 
generation  can  neither  hope  for  nor  im* 
agine,  in  that  pure  and  holy  temple  he 
shall  have  no  part  nor  lot,  but  his  name 
and  his  works  shall  be  cast  out  into  thfc 
darkness  of  oblivion  forever. 

///.  The  Limits  of  Inference.— The 
question  in  what  cases  we  may  believe 
that  which  goes  beyond  our  experience, 
s  a  very  large  and  delicate  one,  extend- 
ing to  the  whole  range  of  scientific 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[325]    85 


method,  and  requiring  a  considerable  in- 
crease in  the  application  of  it  before  it  can 
be  answered  with  anything  approaching 
to  completeness.  But  one  rule,  lying  on 
the  threshold  of  the  subject,  of  extreme 
simplicity  and  vast  practical  importance, 
may  here  be  touched  upon  and  shortly 
laid"  down. 

A  little  reflection  will  show  us  that 
every  belief,  even  the  simplest  and  most 
fundamental,  goes  beyond  experience 
when  regarded  as  a  guide  to  our  actions. 
A  burnt  child  dreads  the  fire,  because  it 
believes  that  the  fire  will  burn  it  to-day 
just  as  it  did  yesterday ;  but  this  belief 
goes  beyond  experience,  and  assumes  that 
the  unknown  fire  of  to-day  is  like  the 
known  fire  of  yesterday.  Even  the  be- 
lief that  the  child  was  burnt  yesterday 
goes  beyond  present  experience,  which 
contains  only  the  memory  of  a  burning, 
and  not  the  burning  itself ;  it  assumes, 
therefore,  that  this  memory  is  trustworthy, 
although  we  know  that  a  memory  may 
often  be  mistaken.  But  if  it  is  to  be  used 
as  a  guide  to  action,  as  a  hint  of  what 
the  future  is  to  be,  it  must  assume  some- 
thing about  that  future,  namely,  that  it 
will  be  consistent  with  the  supposition 
that  the  burning  really  took  place  yester- 
day ;  which  is  going  beyond  experience. 
Even  the  fundamental '  I  am,'  which  can- 
not be  doubted,  is  no  guide  to  action  un- 
til it  takes  to  itself  •  I  shall  be,'  which  goes 
beyond  experience.  The  question  is  not, 
therefore,  '  May  we  believe  what  goes  be- 
yond experience  ?  '  for  this  is  involved  in 
the  very  nature  of  belief  ;  but  '  How  far 
and  in  what  manner  may  we  add  to  our 
experience  in  forming  our  beliefs  ?  ' 

And  an  answer,  of  utter  simplicity 
and  universality,  is  suggested  by  the 
example  we  have  taken  :  a  burnt  child 
dreads  the  fire.  We  may  go  beyond  ex- 
perience by  assuming  that  what  we  do 
not  know  is  like  what  we  do  know ;  or, 
in  other  words,  we  may  add  to  our  ex- 
perience on  the  assumption  of  a  uniform- 
ity in  nature.  What  this  uniformity  pre- 
cisely is,  how  we  grow  in  the  knowledge 
of  it  from  generation  to  generation,  these 
are  questions  which  for  the  present  we 
lay  aside,  being  content  to  examine  two 
instances  which  may  serve  to  make  plain- 
er the  nature  of  the  rule. 

From  certain  observations  made  with 
the  spectroscope,  we  infer  the  existence 
of  hydrogen  in  the  sun.  By  looking  into 
the'  spectroscope  when  the  sun  is  shining 
on  its  slit,  we  see  certain  definite  bright 
lines  :  and  experiments  made  upon  bodies 
en  the  earth  have  taught  us  that  when 


these  bright  lines  are  seen  hydrogen  is 
the  source  of  them.  We  assume,  then, 
that  the  unknown  bright  lines  in  the  sun 
are  like  the  known  bright  lines  of  the 
laboratory,  and  that  hydrogen  in  the  sun 
behaves  as  hydrogen  under  similar  circum- 
stances would  behave  on  the  earth. 

But  are  we  not  trusting  our  spectro- 
scope too  much?  Surely,  having  found 
it  to  be  trustworthy  for  terrestrial  sub- 
stances, where  its  statements  can  be  veri- 
fied by  man,  we  are  justified  in  accepting 
its  testimony  in  other  like  cases;  but  not 
when  it  gives  us  information  about  things 
in  the  sun,  where  its  testimony  cannot  be 
directly  verified  by  man  ? 

Certainly,  we  want  to  know  a  little 
more  before  this  inference  can  be  justi- 
fied ;  and  fortunately  we  do  know  this. 
The  spectroscope  testifies  to  exactly  the 
same  thing  in  the  two  cases ;  namely, 
that  light- vibrations  of  a  certain  rate  are 
being  sent  through  it.  Its  construction 
is  such  that  if  it  were  wrong  about  this  in- 
one  case,  it  would  be  wrong  in  the  other. 
When  we  come  to  look  into  the  matter, 
we  find  that  we  have  really  assumed  the 
matter  of  the  sun  to  be  like  the  matter  of 
the  earth,  made  up  of  a  certain  number 
of  distinct  substances ;  and  that  each  of 
these,  when  very  hot,  has  a  distinct  rate  of 
vibration,  by  which  it  may  be  recognized 
and  singled  out  from  the  rest.  But  this 
is  the  kind  of  assumption  which  we  are 
justified  in  using  when  we  add  to  our  ex- 
perience. It  is  an  assumption  of  uniform- 
ity in  nature,  and  can  only  be  checked 
by  comparison  with  many  similar  assump- 
tions which  we  have  to  make  in  other 
such  cases. 

But  is  this  a  true  belief,  of  the  existence 
of  hydrogen  in  the  sun?  Can  it  help  in 
the  right  guidance  of  human  action  ? 

Certainly  not,  if  it  is  accepted  on  un- 
worthy grounds,  and  without  some  un- 
derstanding of  the  process  by  which  it  is 
g'ot  at.  But  when  this  process  is  taken 
in  as  the  ground  of  the  belief,  it  becomes 
a  very  serious  and  practical  matter.  For 
if  there  is  no  hydrogen  in  the  sun,  the 
spectroscope — that  is  to  say,  the  measure- 
ment of  rates  of  vibration — must  be  an 
uncertain  guide  in  recognizing  different 
substances ;  and  consequently  it  ought 
not  to  be  used  in  chemical  analysis — in 
assaying,  for  example — to  the  great  sav- 
ing of  time,  trouble,  and  money.  Where- 
as the  acceptance  of  the  spectroscopic 
method  as  trustworthy  has  enriched  us 
not  only  with  new  metals,  which  is  a  great 
thing,  but  with  new  processes  of  inve^ti- 
gation,  which  is  vastly  greater.  I. 


36    [326] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


For  another  example,  let  us  consider 
tfce  way  in  which  we  infer  the  truth  of  an 
Historical  event — say  the  siege  of  Syra- 
cuse in  the  Peloponnesian  war.  Our  ex- 
perience is  that  manuscripts  exist  which 
are  said  to  be  and  which  call  themselves 
manuscripts  of  the  history  of  Thucydides  ; 
that  in  other  manuscripts,  stated  to  be  by 
later  historians,  he  is  described  as  living 
during  the  time  of  the  war;  and  that 
books,  supposed  to  date  from  the  revival 
of  learning,  tell  us  how  these  manuscripts 
had  been  preserved  and  were  then  ac- 
quired. We  find  also  that  men  do  not, 
as  a  rule,  forge  books  and  histories  with- 
out a  special  motive ;  we  assume  that  in 
this  respect  men  in  the  past  were  like 
men  in  the  present ;  and  we  observe  that 
in  this  case  no  special  motive  was  present. 
That  is,  we  add  to  our  experience  on  the  as- 
sumption of  a  uniformity  in  the  characters 
of  men.  Because  our  knowledge  of  this 
uniformity  is  far  less  complete  and  exact 
than  our  knowledge  of  that  which  obtains 
in  physics,  inferences  of  the  historical  kind 
are  more  precarious  and  less  exact  than 
inferences  in  many  other  sciences. 

But  if  there  is  any  special  reason  to 
suspect  the  character  of  the  persons  who 
wrote  or  transmitted  certain  books,  the 
qase  becomes  altered.  If  a  group  of 
documents  give  internal  evidence  that 
they  were  produced  among  people  who 
forged  books  in  the  names  of  others,  and 
who,  in  describing  events,  suppressed 
those  things  which  did  not  suit  them, 
while  they  amplified  such  as  did  suit 
them  ;  who  not  only  committed  these 
crimes,  but  gloried  in  them  as  proofs  of 
humility  and  zeal ;  then  we  must  say  that 
ypon  such  documents  no  true  historical 
inference  can  be  founded,  but  only  unsat- 
isfactory conjecture. 

We  may,  then,  add  to  our  experience 
on  the  assumption  of  a  uniformity  in  nat- 
ure; we  may  fill  in  our  picture  of  what 
is  and  has  been,  as  experience  gives  it  us, 
in  such  a  way  as  to  make  the  whole  con- 
sistent with  this  uniformity.  And  practi- 
cally demonstrative  inference — that  which 
£ives  us  a  right  to  believe  in  the  result  of 
it — is  a  clear  showing  that  in  no  other 
way  than  by  the  truth  of  this  result  can 
the  uniformity  of  nature  be  saved. 

No  evidence,  therefore,  can  justify  us 
in  believing  the  truth  of  a  statement 
.which  is  contrary  to,  or  outside  of,  the 
uniformity  of  nature.  If  our  experience  is 
such  that  it  cannot  be  filled  up  consistent- 
ly with  uniformity,  all  we  have  a  right  to 
conclude  .is  that  there  is  something  wrong 
somewhere ;  but  the  possibility  of  infer- 


ence is  taken  away  ;  .we  must  rest  in  our 
experience,  and  not  go  beyond  it  at  all. 
If  an  event  really  happened  which  was 
not  a  part  of  the  uniformity  of  nature,  it 
would  have  two  properties :  no  evidence 
could  give  the  right  to  believe  it  to  any 
except  those  whose  actual  experience  it 
was ;  and  no  inference  worthy  of  belief 
could  t>e  founded  upon  it  at  all. 

Are  we  then  bound  to  believe  that  nat- 
ure is  absolutely  and  universally  uniform? 
Certainly  not ;  we  have  no  right  to  be- 
lieve anything  of  this  kind.  The  rule 
only  tells  us  that  in  forming  beliefs  which 
go  beyond  our  experience,  we  may  make 
the  assumption  that  nature  is  practically 
uniform  so  far  as  we  are  concerned. 
Within  the  range  of  human  action  and 
verification,  we  may  form,  by  help  of 
this  assumption,  actual  beliefs ;  beyond 
it,  only  those  hypotheses  which  serve  for 
the  more  accurate  asking  of  questions. 

To  sum  up  : — 

We  may  believe  what  goes  beyond  our 
experience,  only  when  it  is  inferred  from, 
that  experience  by  the  assumption  that 
what  we  do  not  know  is  like  what  we 
know. 

1^  We  may  believe  the  statement  of  an- 
other person,  when  there  is  reasonable 
ground  for  supposing  that  he  knows  the. 
matter  of  which  he  speaks,  and  that  he  is 
speaking  the  truth  so  far  as  he  knows  it. 

It  is  wrong  in  all  cases  to  believe  on 
insufficient  evidence ;  and  where  it  is 
presumption  to  doubt  and  to  investigate, 
there  it  is  worse  than  presumption  to  be- 
lieve. 

IV.  THE  ETHICS  OF  RELIGION,  j 

THE  word  religion  is  used  is  many 
different  meanings,  and  there  have  been' 
not  a  few  controversies  in  which  the  main 
difference  between  the  contending  parties 
was  only  this,  that  they  understood  by  re- 
ligion two  different  things.  I  will  there- 
fore begin  by  setting  forth  as  clearly  as  I 
can  one  or  two  of  the  meanings  which 
the  word  appears  to  have  in  popular 
speech. 

First,  then,  it  may  mean  a  body  of  doc- 
trines, as  in  the  common  phrase,  'The 
truth  of  the  Christian  religion  ; '  or  in  this 
sentence,  '  The  religion  of  the  Buddha 
teaches  that  the  soul  is  not  a  distinct  sub-' 
stance.'  Opinions  differ  upon  the  ques- 
tion what  doctrines  may  properly  be 
called  religious;  some  people  holding 
that  there  can  be  no  religion  without  be- 
lief in  a  God  and  in  a  future  life,  so  that 
in  their  judgment  the  body  of  doctrines 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[327] 


must  necessarily  include  these  two  ;  while 
others,  would  insist  upon  other  special 
dogmas  being  included,  before  they  could 
consent  to  call  the  system  by  this  name. 
But  the  number  of  such  people  is  daily 
diminishing,  by  reason  of  the  spread  and 
the  increase  of  our  knowledge  about  dis- 
tant countries  and  races.  To  me,  indeed, 
it  would  seem  rash  to  assert  of  any  doc- 
trine or  its  contrary  that  it  might  not 
form  part  of  a  religion,  But,  fortunately, 
it  is  not  necessary  to  any  part  of  the  dis- 
cussion on  which  I  propose  to  enter  that 
this  question  should  be  settled. 

Secondly,  religion  may  mean  a  cer- 
emonial or  cult,  involving  an  organized 
priesthood  and  a  machinery  of  sacred 
things  and  places.  In  this  sense  we 
speak  of  the  clergy  as  ministers  of  re- 
ligion, or  of  a  state  as  tolerating  the 
practice  of  certain  religions.  There  is 
a  somewhat  wider  meaning  which  it  will 
be  convenient  to  consider  together  with 
this  one,  and  as  a  mere  extension  of  it, 
namely,  that  in  which  religion  stands  for 
the  influence  of  a  certain  priesthood.  A 
religion  is  sometimes  said  to  have  been 
successful  when  it  has  got  its  priests  into 
power ;  thus  some  writers  speak  of  the 
wonderfully  rapid  success  of  Christianity. 
A  nation  is  said  to  have  embraced  a  re- 
ligion when  the  authorities  of  that  nation 
have  granted  privileges  to  the  clergy, 
have  made  them  as  far  as  possible  the 
leaders  of  society,  and  have  given  them  a 
considerable  share  in  the  management  of 
public  affairs.  So  the  northern  nations 
of  Europe  are  said  to  have  embraced  the 
Catholic  religion  at  an  early  date.  The 
reason  why  it  seems  to  me  convenient  to 
take  these  two  meanings  together  is, 
that  they  are  both  related  to  the  priest- 
hood. Although  the  priesthood  itself  is 
not  called  religion,  so  far  as  I  know,  yet 
the  word  is  used  for  the  general  influence 
and  professional  acts  of  the  priesthood. 

Thirdly,  religion  may  mean  a  body  of 
precepts  or  code  of  rules,  intended  to 
guide  human  conduct,  as  in  this  sentence 
of  the  authorized  version  of  the  New 
Testament:  'Pure  religion  and  undefiled 
before  God  and  the  Father  is  this,  to  visit 
the  fatherless  and  widows  in  their  afflic- 
tion, and  to  keep  himself  unspotted  from 
the  world'  (James,  .L  27).  It  is  some- 
times difficult  to  draw  the  line  between 
this  meaning  and  the  last,  for  it  is  a  mark 
of  the  great  majority  of  religions  that  they 
confound  ceremonial  observances  with 
duties  having  real  moral  obligation.  Thus 
in  the  Jewish  decalogue  the  command  to  do 
no  work  on  Saturdays  is  found  side  by 


side  with  the  prohibition  of  murder  and 
theft.  It  might  seem  to  be  the  more  cor- 
rect as  well  as  the  more  philosophical 
course  to  follow  in  this  matter  the  dis- 
tinction made  by  Butler  between  moral 
and  positive  commands,  and  to  class  all 
those  precepts  which  are  not  of  universal 
moral  obligation  under  the  head  of  cere- 
monial. And,  in  fact,  when  we  come  to 
examine  the  matter  from  the  point  of 
view  of  morality,  the  distinction  is  of  the 
utmost  importance.  But  from  the  point 
of  view  of  religion  there  are  difficulties  int 
making  it.  In  the  first  place,  the  distinc- 
tion is  not  made,  or  is  not  understood,  by 
religious  folk  in  general.  Innumerable 
tracts  and  pretty  stories  impress  upon  us 
that  Sabbath-breaking  is  rather  worse 
than  stealing,  and  leads  naturally  on  to 
materialism  and  murder.  Less  than  a 
hundred  years  ago  sacrilege  was  punish- 
able by  burning  in  France,  and  murder 
by  simple  decapitation.  In  the  next  place, 
if  we  pick  out  a  religion  at  haphazard,  we 
shall  find  that  it  is  not  at  all  easy  to  divide 
its  precepts  into  those  which  are  really  of 
moral  obligation  and  those  which  are'  in- 
different and  of  a  ceremonial  character^ 
We  may  find  precepts  unconnected  with 
any  ceremonial,  and  yet  positively  im- 
moral ;  and  ceremonials  may  be  immoral 
in  themselves,  or  constructively  immoral 
on  account  of  their  known  symbolism. 
On  the  whole,  it  seems  to  me  most  con- 
venient to  draw  the  plain  and  obvious 
distinction  between  those  actions  which  a 
religion  prescribes  to  all  its  followers, 
whether  the  actions  are  ceremonial  or  not, 
and  those  which  are  prescribed  only  as 
professional  actions  of  a  sacerdotal  class. 
The  latter  will  come  under  what  I  hav£ 
called  the  second  meaning  of  religion, 
the  professional  acts  and  the  influence5  of 
a  priesthood.  In  the  third  meaning  will 
be  included  all  that  practically  guides  the 
life»of  a  layman,  in  so  far  as  this  guidance 
is  supplied  to  him  by  his  religion. 

Fourthly,  and  lastly,  there  is  a  meaning 
of  the  word  religion  which  has  been 
coming  more  and  more  prominently  for- 
ward of  late  years,  till  it  has  even  threat- 
ened to  supersede  all  the  others.  Religion 
has  been  defined  as  morality  touched  with 
emotion.  I  will  not  here  adopt  this  defi- 
nition, because  I  wish  to  deal  with  the 
concrete  in  the  first  place,  and  only  to 
pass  on  to  the  abstract  in  so  far  as  that 
previous  study  appears  to  lead  to  it.  I  wish 
to  consider  the  facts  of  religion  as  we  find 
them,  and  not  ideal  possibilities.  '  Yes, 
but,'  every  one  will  say,  '  if  you  mean  my 
own  religion,  it  is  already,  as  a  matter  of 


38    [3281 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


fact,  morality  touched  with  emotion.  It 
is  the  highest  morality  touched  with  the 
purest  emotion,  an  emotion  directed  to- 
ward the  most  worthy  of  objects.'  Un- 
fortunately we  do  not  mean  your  re- 
ligion alone,  but  all  manner  of  heresies 
and  heathenisms  along  with  it :  the  re- 
ligions of  the  Thug,  of  the  Jesuit,  of  the 
South  Sea  cannibal,  of  Confucius,  of  the 
poor  Indian  with  his  untutored  mind,  of 
the  Peculiar  People,  of  the  Mormons, 
and  of  the  old  cat-worshiping  Egyptian. 
It  must  be  clear  that  we  shall  restrict 
ourselves  to  a  very  narrow  circle  of  what 
are  commonly  called  religious  facts,  unless 
we  include  in  our  considerations  not  only 
morality  touched  with  emotion,  but  also 
immorality  touched  with  emotion.  In 
fact,  what  is  really  touched  with  emotion 
ia  any  case  is  that  body  of  precepts  for 
the  guidance  of  a  layman's  life  which  we 
have  taken  to  be  the  third  meaning  of 
religion.  In  that  collection  of  precepts 
there  may  be  some  agreeable  to  morality, 
and  some  repugnant  to  it,  and  some  in- 
different, but  being  all  enjoined  by  the  re- 
ligion they  will  alfbe  touched  by  the  same 
religious  emotion.  Shall  we  then  say  that 
religion  means  a  feeling,  an  emotion,  an 
habitual  attitude  of  mind  toward  some 
object  or  objects,  or  toward  life  in  gen- 
eral, which  has  a  bearing  upon  the  way  in 
wiiich  men  regard  the  rules  of  conduct  ? 
I  think  the  last  phrase  should  be  left  out. 
An  habitual  attitude  of  mind,  of  a  re- 
;Kgious  character,  does  always  have  some 
.bearing  upon  the  way  in  which  men  re- 
gard the  rules  of  conduct;  but  it  seems 
sometimes  as  if  this  were  an  accident, 
and  not  the  essence  of  the  religious  feel- 
ing. Some  devout  people  prefer  to  have 
their  devotion  pure  and  simple,  without 
admixture  of  any  such  application — they 
do  not  want  to  listen  to  '  cauld  morality.' 
And  it  seems  as  if  the  religious  feeling  of 
the  Greeks,  and  partly  also  of  our  own 
ancestors,  was  so  far  divorced  from  mor- 
ality that  it  affected  it  only,  as  it  were, 
by  a  side-wind,  through  the  influence  of 
the  character  and  example  of  the  Gods. 
So  that  it  seems  only  likely  to  create  con- 
fusion if  we  mix  up  morality  with  this 
fourth  meaning  of  religion.  Sometimes 
religion  means  a  code  of  precepts,  and 
sometimes  it  means  a  devotional  habit  of 
mind  ;  the  two  things  are  sometimes  con- 
nected, but  also  they  are  sometimes  quite 
distinct.  But  that  the  connection  of  these 
two  things  is  more  and  more  insisted  on, 
that  it  is  the  keynote  of  the  apparent  re- 
vival of  religion  which  has  taken  place 
in  this  century,  is  a  very  significant 


fact,  about  which  there  is  more  to  be 
said. 

As  to  the  nature  of  this  devotional 
habit  of  mind,  there  are  no  doubt  many 
who  would  like  a  closer  definition.  But  I 
am  not  at  all  prepared  to  say  what  attitude 
of  mind  may  properly  be  called  religious, 
and  what  may  not.  Some  will  hold  that 
religion  must  have  a  person  for  its  object ; 
but  the  Buddha  was  filled  with  religious 
feeling,  and  yet  he  had  no  personal  ob- 
ject. Spinoza,  the  God-intoxicated  man, 
had  no  personal  object  for  his  devotion. 
It  might  be  possible  to  frame  a  definition 
which  would  fairly  include  all  cases,  but 
it  would  require  the  expenditure  of  vast 
ingenuity  and  research,  and  would  not,  I 
am  inclined  to  think,  be  of  much  Use 
when  it  was  obtained. 

Nor  is  the  difficulty  to  be  got  over  by 
taking  any  definite  and  well-organized 
sect,  whose  principles  are  settled  in  black 
and  white ;  for  example,  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  whose  seamless  unity 
has  just  been  exhibited  and  protected  by 
an  (Ecumenical  Council.  Shall  we  listen 
to  Mr.  Mivart,  who  'execrates  without 
reserve  Marian  persecutions,  the  Massa- 
cre of  St.  Bartholomew,  and  all  similar 
acts  '  ?  or  to  the  editor  of  the  Dublin  Re- 
view, who  thinks  that  a  teacher  of  false 
doctrines  'should  be  visited  by  the  law 
with  just  that  amount  of  severity  which 
the  public  sentiment  will  bear '  ?  For 
assuredly  common-sense  morality  will 
pass  very  different  judgments  on  these 
two  distinct  religions,  although  it  appears 
that  experts  have  found  room  for  both 
of  them  within  the  limits  of  the  Vatican 
definitions. 

Moreover,  there  is  very  great  good  to 
be  got  by  widening  our  view  of  what  may 
be  contained  in  religion.  If  we  go  to  a 
man  and  propose  to  test  his  own  religion 
by  the  canons  of  common-sense  morality, 
he  will  be,  most  likely,  offended,  for  he 
will  say  that  his  religion  is  far  too  sub- 
lime and  exalted  to  be  affected  by  con- 
siderations of  that  sort.  But  he  will 
have  no  such  objection  in  the  case  of 
other  people's  religion.  And  when  he 
has  found  that  in  the  name  of  religion 
other  people,  in  other  circumstances, 
have  believed  in  doctrines  that  were  false, 
have  supported  priesthoods  that  were  so- 
cial evils,  have  taken  wrong  for  right,  and 
have  even  poisoned  the  very  sources  of 
morality,  he  may  be  tempted  to  ask  him- 
self, «  Is  there  no  trace  of  any  of  these 
evils  in  my  own  religion,  or  at  least  in 
my  own  conception  and  practice  of  it  ? ' 
And  that  is  just  what  we  want  him  to  do. 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[32$]    SO 


Bring;  your  doctrines,  your  priesthoods, 
your  precepts,  yea,  .even  the  inner  devo- 
tion of  your  soul,  before  the  tribunal  of 
conscience  ;  she  is  no  man's  and  no  God's 
vicar,  but  the  supreme  judge  of  men  and 
Gods. 

Let  us  inquire,  then,  what  morality 
has  to  say  in  regard  to  religious  doctrines. 
It  deals  with  the  manner  of  religious  be- 
lief directly,  and  with  the  matter  indi- 
rectly. Religious  beliefs  must  be  found- 
ed on  evidence ;  if  they  are  not  so 
founded,  it  is  wrong  to  hold  them.  The 
rule  of  right  conduct  in  this  matter  is  ex- 
actly the  opposite  of  that  implied  in  the 
two  famous  texts :  •  He  that  believeth  not 
shall  be  damned,'  and  •  Blessed  are  they 
that  have  not  seen  and  yet  have  believed.' 
For  a  man  who  clearly  felt  and  recognized 
the  duty  of  intellectual  honesty,  of  care- 
fully testing  every  belief  before  he  re- 
ceived it,  and  especially  before  he  recom- 
mended it  to  others,  it  would  be  impossi- 
ble to  ascribe  the  profoundly  immoral 
teaching  of  these  texts  to  a  true  prophet 
or  worthy  leader  of  humanity.  It  will 
comfort  those  who  wish  to  preserve  their 
reverence  for  the  character  of  a  great 
teacher  to  remember  that  one  of  these 
sayings  is  in  the  well-known  forged  pas- 
sage at  the  end  of  the  second  gospel,  and 
that  the  other  occurs  only  in  the  late  and 
legendary  fourth  gospel ;  both  being  de- 
scribed as  spoken  under  utterly  impossi- 
ble circumstances.  These  precepts  be- 
long to  the  Church  and  not  to  the  Gospel. 
But  whoever  wrote  either  of  them  down 
as  a  deliverance  of  one  whom  he  sup- 
posed to  be  a  divine  teacher,  has  thereby 
written  down  himself  as  a  man  void  of 
intellectual  honesty,  as  a  man  whose 
word  cannot  be  trusted,  as  a  man  Who 
would  accept  and  spread  about  any  kind 
of  baseless  fiction  for  fear  of  believing  too 
little. 

So  far  as  to  the  manner  of  religious  be- 
lief. Let  us  now  inquire  what  bearing 
morality  has  upon  its  matter.  We  may 
see  at  once  that  this  can  only  be  indirect ; 
for  the  Tightness  or  wrongness  of  belief 
in  a  doctrine  depends  only  upon  the  nat- 
ure of  the  evidence  for  it,  and  not  upon 
what  the  doctrine  is.  But  there  is  a  very 
important  way  in  which  religious  doctrine 
may  lead  to  morality  or  immorality,  and 
in  which,  therefore,  morality  has  a  bear- 
ing upon  doctrine.  It  is  when  that  doc- 
trine declares  the  character  and  actions 
of  the  Gods  who  are  regarded  as  objects 
of' reverence  and  worship.  If  a  God  is 
represented  as  doing  that  which  is  clearly 
wrong,  and  is  still  held  up  to  the  rever- 


ence of  men,  they  will  be  tempted  to 
think  that  in  doing  this  wrong  thing  they 
are  not  so  very  wrong  after  all,  but  are 
only  following  an  example  which  all  men 
respect.  So  says  Plato  : — 

4  We  must  not  tell  a  youthful  listener 
that  he  will  be  doing  nothing  extraordi- 
nary if  he  commit  the  foulest  crimes  nor 
yet  if  he  chastise  the  crimes  of  a  father 
in  the  most  unscrupulous  manner,  but 
will  simply  be  doing  what  the  first  and 
greatest  of  the  Gods  have  done  before 
him.  .  .  . 

•  Nor  yet  is  it  proper  to  say  in  any 
case — what  is  indeed  untrue — that  Gods 
wage  war  against  Gods,  and  intrigue  and 
fight  among  themselves ;  that  is,  if  the 
future  guardians  of  our  state  are  to  deem 
it  a  most  disgraceful  thing  to  quarrel 
lightly  with  one  another :  far  less  ought 
we  to  select  as  subjects  for  fiction  and 
embroidery  the  battles  of  the  giants,  and 
numerous  other  feuds  of  all  sorts,  in. 
which  Gods  and  heroes  fight  against  their 
own  kith  and  kin.  But  if  there  is  any 
possibility  of  persuading  them  that  to> 
quarrel  with  one's  fellow  is  a  sin  oi 
which  no  member  of  a  state  was  ever 
guilty,  such  ought  rather  to  be  the  lan- 
guage held  to  our  children  from  the  first,, 
by  old  men  and  old  women,  and  all 
elderly  persons ;  and  such  is  the  strain 
in  which  our  poets  must  be  compelled  to- 
write.  But  stories  like  the  chaining  of 
Hera  by  her  son,  and  the  flinging  of  H'ep- 
haistos  out  of  heaven  for  trying  to  take, 
his  mother's  part  when  his  father  was 
beating  her,  and  all  those  battles  of  thc- 
Gods  which  are  to  be  found  in  Homer,, 
must  be  refused  admittance  into  our  state, 
whether  they  be  allegorical  or  not.  For 
a  child  cannot  discriminate  between  what 
is  allegory  and  what  is  not ;.  and  what- 
ever at  that  age  is  adopted  as  a  matter  of 
belief  has  a  tendency  to  become  fixed 
and  indelible,  and  therefore,,  perhaps,  we 
ought  to  esteem  it  of  the  greatest  impor- 
tance that  the  fictions  which  children  first 
hear  should  be  adapted  in  the  most  per- 
fect manner  to  the  promotion  of  virtue.' 
—(Rep.  ii.  378.  Tr.  Davies  and  Vaughan.) 

And  Seneca  says  the  same  thing,  with 
still  more  reason  in  his  day  and  country  : 
'  What  else  is  this  appeal  to  the  precedent 
of  the  Gods  for,  but  to  inflame  our  lusts, 
and  to  furnish  license  and  excuse  for  the 
corrupt  act  under  the  divine  protection  ?  ' 
And  again,  of  the  character  of  Jupiter  as 
described  in  the  popular  legends :  '  This 
has  led  to  no  other  result  than  to  deprive 
sin  of  its  shame  in  man's  eyes,  by  showing 
him  the  God  no  better  than  himself.'  la 


40    [330] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


Imperial  Rome,  the  sink  of  all  nations,  it- 
was  not  uncommon  to  find  '  the  intending 
sinner  addressing  to  the  deified  vice  which 
fee  contemplated  a  prayer  for  the  success 
of  his  design  ;  the  adulteress  imploring  of 
Venus  the  favors  of  her  paramour;  .  .  . 
the  thief  praying  to  Hermes  Dolios  for 
aid  in  his  enterprise,  or  offering  up  to  him 
the  first  fruits  of  his  plunder  ;  .  .  .  youths 
entreating  Hercules  to  expedite  the  death 
of  a  rich  uncle.' 

When  we  reflect  that  criminal  deities 
were  worshiped  all  over  the  empire,  we 
cannot  but  wonder  that  any  good  people 
were  left ;  that  man  could  still  be  holy, 
although  every  God  was  vile.  Yet  this 
was  undoubtedly  the  case;  the  social 
forces  worked  steadily  on  wherever  there 
was  peace  and  a  settled  government  and 
municipal  freedom ;  and  the  wicked  stories 
of  theologians  were  somehow  explained 
away  and  disregarded.  If  men  were  no 
better  than  their  religions,  the  world  would 
be  a  hell  indeed. 

It  is  very  important,  however,  to  con- 
sider what  really  ought  to  be  done  in  the 
case  of  stories  like  these.  When  the  poet 
sings  that  Zeus  kicked  Hephaistos  out  of 
heaven  for  trying  to  help  his  mother, 
Plato  says  that  this  fiction  must  be  sup- 
pressed by  law.  We  cannot  follow  him 
there,  for  since  his  time  we  have  had  too 
much  of  trying  to  suppress  false  doctrines 
by  law.  Plato  thinks  it  quite  obviously 
clear  that  God  cannot  produce  evil,  and 
he  would  stop  everybody's  mouth  who 
ventured  to  say  that  he  can.  But  in  regard 
to  the  doctrine  itself,  we  can  only  ask,  •  Is 
it  true  ? '  And  that  is  a  question  to  be 
settled  by  evidence.  Did  Zeus  commit 
this  crime,  or  did  he  not  ?  We  must  ask 
the  apologists,  the  reconcilers  of  religion 
and  science,  what  evidence  they  can  pro- 
duce to  prove  that  Zeus  kicked  Hephais- 
tos out  of  heaven.  That  a  doctrine  may 
lead  to  immoral  consequences  is  no  reason 
for  disbelieving  it.  But  whether  the  doc- 
trine were  true  or  false,  one  thing  does 
clearly  follow  from  its  moral  character  : 
namely  this,  that  if  Zeus  behaved  as  he  is 
said  to  have  behaved  he  ought  not  to  be 
worshiped.  To  those' who  complain  of  his 
violence  and  injustice  it  is  no  answer  to 
say  that  the  divine  attributes  are  far  above 
human  comprehension  ;  that  the  ways  of 
Zeus  are  not  our  ways,  neither  are  his 
thoughts  our  thoughts.  If  he  is  to  be 
worshiped,  he  must  do  something  vaster 
.and  nobler  and  greater  than  good  men 
do,  but  it  must  be  like  what  they  do  in  its 
goodness.  His  actions  must  not  be  merely 
a  magnified  copy  of  what  bad  men  do. 


So  soon  as  they  are  thus  represented, 
morality  has  something  to  say.  Not  in- 
deed about  the  fact ;  for  it  is  not  con- 
science, but  reason,  that  has  to  judge 
matters  of  fact;  but  about  the  worship 
of  a  character  so  represented.  If  there 
really  is  good  evidence  that  Zeus  kicked 
Hephaistos  out  of  heaven,  and  seduced 
Alkmene  by  a  mean  trick,  say-  so  by  all 
means ;  but  say  also  that  it  is  wrong  to 
salute  his  priests  or  to  make  offerings  in 
his  temple. 

When  men  do  their  duty  in  this  respect, 
morality  has  a  very  curious  indirect  effect 
on  the  religious  doctrine  itself.  As  soon 
as  the  offerings  become  less  frequent,  the 
evidence  for  the  doctrine  begins  to  fade 
away  ;  the  process  of  theological  interpre- 
tation gradually  brings  out  the  true  inner 
meaning  of  it,  that  Zeus  did  not  kick 
Hephaistos  out  of  heaven,  and  did  not 
seduce  Alkmene. 

Is  this  a  merely  theoretical  discussion 
about  far-away  things  ?  Let  us  come 
back  for  a  moment  to  our  own  time  and 
country,  and  think  whether  there  can  be 
any  lesson  for  us  in  this  refusal  of  common- 
sense  morality  to  worship  a  deity  whose 
actions  are  a  magnified  copy  of  what 
bad  men  do.  There  are  three  doctrines 
which  find  very  wide  acceptance  among 
our  countrymen  at  the  present  day  :  the 
doctrines  of  original  sin,  of  a  vicarious 
sacrifice,  and  of  eternal  punishments.  We 
are  not  concerned  with  any  refined  evap- 
orations of  these  doctrines  which  are  ex- 
haled by  courtly  theologians,  but  with 
the  naked  statements  which  are  put  into 
the  minds  of  children  and  of  ignorant 
people,  which  are  taught  broadcast  and 
without  shame  in  denominational  schools. 
Father  Faber,  good  soul,  persuaded  him- 
self that  after  all  only  a  very  few  people 
would  be  really  damned,  and  Father  Ox- 
enham  gives  one  the  impression  that  it 
will  not  hurt  even  them  very  much.  But 
one  learns  the  practical  teaching  of  the 
Church  from  such  books  as  '  A  Glimpse 
of  Hell,'  where  a  child  is  described  as 
thrown  between  the  bars  upon  the  burn- 
ing coals,  there  to  writhe  forever.  The 
masses  do  not  get  the  elegant  emascula- 
tions of  Father  Faber  and  Father  Oxen- 
ham  ;  they  get ' a  Glimpse  of  Hell.'^ 

Now  to  condemn  all  mankind  for  the 
sin  of  Adam  and  Eve  ;  to  let  the  innocent 
suffer  for  the  guilty ;  to  keep  any  one  alive 
in  torture  forever  and  ever ;  these  actions 
are  simply  magnified  copies  of  what  bad 
men  do.  No  juggling  with  •  divine  justice 
and^mercy  '  ,can  make  them  anything  else. 
This  must  be  said  to  all  kinds  and-condi- 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[331]    41 


tions  of  men  :  that  if  God  holds  all  man- 
kind guilty  for  the  sin  of  Adam,  if  he 
has  visited  upon  the  innocent  the  punish- 
ment of  the  guilty,  if  he  is  to  torture  any 
single  soul  forever,  then  it  is  wrong  to 
worship  him. 

But  there  is  something  to  be  said  also 
to  those  who  think  that  religious  beliefs 
are  not  indeed  true,  but  are  useful  for  the 
masses ;  who  deprecate  any  open  and  pub- 
lic argument  against  them,  and  .think-  that 
all  skeptical  books  should  be  published  at 
a  high  price  ;  who  go  to  church,  not  be- 
cause they  approve  of  it  themselves,  but 
to  set  an  example  to  the  servants.  Let  us 
ask  them  to  ponder  the  words  of  Plato, 
who,  like  them,  thought  that  all  these 
tales  of  the  Gods  were  fables,  but  still  fa- 
files  which  might  be  useful  to  amuse  chil- 
dren with  :  '  We  ought  to  esteem  it  of  the 
greatest  importance  that  the  fictions 
which  children  first  hear  should  be  adapt- 
ed in  the  most  perfect  manner  to  the 
promotion  of  virtue.'  If  we  grant  to  you 
that  it  is  good  for  poor  people  and  chil- 
dren to  believe  some  of  these  fictions,  is 
it  not  better,  at  least,  that  they  should 
believe  those  which  are  adapted  to  the 
promotion  of  virtue  ?  Now  the  stories 
which  you  send  your  servants  and  chil- 
dren to  hear  are  adapted  to  the  promo- 
tion of  vice.  So  far  as  the  remedy  is  in 
your  own  hands,  you  are  bound  to  apply 
it ;  stop  your  voluntary  subscriptions  and 
the  moral  support  of  your  presence  from 
any  place  where  the  criminal  doctrines 
are  taught.  You  will  find  more  men  and 
better  men  to  preach  that  which  is  agree- 
able to  their  conscience,  than  to  thunder 
out  doctrines  under  which  their  minds  are 
always  uneasy,  and  which  only  a  contin- 
ual self-deception  can  keep  them  from 
feeling  to  be  wicked. 

Let  us  now  go  on  to  inquire  what  mor- 
ality has  to  say  in  the  matter  of  religious 
ministrations,  the  official  acts  and  the 
general  influence  of  a  priesthood.  This 
question  seems  to  me  a  more  difficult 
one  than  the  former  ;  at  any  rate  it  is  not 
so  easy  to  find  general  principles  which 
are  at  once  simple  in  their  nature  and 
clear  to  the  conscience  of  any  man  who 
honestly  considers  them.  One  such  prin- 
ciple, indeed,  there  is,  which  can  hardly 
be  stated  in  a  Protestant  country  with- 
out meeting  with  a  cordial  response ; 
being  indeed  that  characteristic  of  our 
race  which  made  the  Reformation  a  ne- 
cessity, and  became  the  soul  of  the  Prot- 
estant movement.  I  mean  the  principle 
which  forbids  the  priest  to  come  between 
a  man  and  his  conscience.  If  it  be  true 


as  our  daily  experience  teaches  us,  that 
he  moral  sense  gains  in  clearness  and 
power  by  exercise,  by  the  constant  en-t 
deavor  to  find  out  and  to  see  for  our- 
selves what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong,  it 
must  be  nothing  short  of  a  moral  suicide 
o  delegate  our  conscience  to  another 
man.  It  is  true  that  when  we  are  in  dif- 
ficulties and  do  not  altogether  see  our 
way,  we  quite  rightly  seek  counsel  and 
advice  of  some  friend  who  has  more  ex-, 
^erience,  more  wisdom  begot  by  it,  more 
devotion  to  the  right  than  ourselves,  and* 
who,  not  being  involved  in  the  difficul- 
ties which  encompass  us,  may  more  easily 
see  the  way  out  of  them.  But  such  coun- 
sel does  not  and  ought  not  to  take  the 
)lace  of  our  private  judgment;  on  the 
contrary,  among  wise  men  it  is  asked  and 
given  for  the  purpose  of  helping  and  sup- 
Dorting  private  judgment.  I  should  go 
:o  my  friend,  not  that  he  may  tell  me 
what  to  do,  but  that  he  may  help  me  to 
see  what  is  right. 

Now,  as  we  all  know,  there  is  a  priest- 
lood  whose  influence  is  not  to  be  made 
ight  of,  even  in  our  own  land,  which 
claims  to  do  two  things :  to  declare  with 
nfallible  authority  what  is  right  and 
tfhat  is  wrong,  and  to  take  away  the 
jjuilt  of  the  sinner  after  confession  has- 
been  made  to  it.  The  second  of  these 
claims  we  shall  come  back  upon  in  con- 
nection with  another  part  of  the  subject. 
But  that  claim  is  one  which,  as  it  seems 
to  me,  ought  to  condemn  the  priesthood 
making  it  in  the  eyes  of  every  conscien* 
tious  man.  We  must  take  care  to  keep  this 
question  to  itself,  and  not  to  let  it  be  con- 
fused with  quite  different  ones.  The 
priesthood  in  question,  as  we  all  know,  has 
taught  that  as  right  which  is  not  right,  and 
has  condemned  as  wrong  some  of  the  ho- 
liest duties  of  mankind.  But  this  is  not 
what  we  are  here  concerned  with.  Let  us 
put  an  ideal  case  of  a  priesthood  which,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  taught  a  morality  agree- 
ing with  the  healthy  conscience  of  all 
men  at  a  given  time ;  but  which,  never- 
theless, taught  this  as  an  infallible  reve- 
lation. The  tendency  of  such  teaching, 
if  really  accepted,  would  be  to  destroy 
morality  altogether,  for  it  is  of  the  very 
essence  of  the  moral  sense  that  it  is  a 
common  perception  by  men  of  what  is 
good  for  man.  It  arises,  not  in  one  man's 
mind  by  a  flash  of  genius  or  a  transport 
of  ecstasy,  but  in  all  men's  minds,  as  the 
fruit  of  their  necessary  intercourse  and 
united  labor  for  a  common  object.  When 
an  infallible  authority  is  set  up,  the  voice 
of  this  natural  human  conscience  must 


4*    [332] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


be  hushed  and  schooled,  and  made  to 
speak  the  words  of  a  formula.  Obe- 
dience becomes  the  whole  duty  of  man ; 
and  the  notion  of  right  is  attached  to  a 
lifeless  code  of  rules,  instead  of  being  the 
informing  character  of  a  nation.  The 
natural  consequence  is  that  it  fades  grad- 
ually out  and  ends  by  disappearing  alto- 
gether. I  am  not  describing  a  purely 
conjectural  state  of  things,  but  an  effect 
which  has  actually  been  produced  at  va- 
rious times  and  in  considerable  popula- 
tions by  the  influence  of  the  Catholic 
Church.  It  is  true  that  we  cannot  find 
an  actually  crucial  instance  of  a  pure  mor- 
ality taught  as  an  infallible  revelation, 
and  so  in  time  ceasing  to  be  morality  for 
that  reason  alone.  There  arc  two'  cir- 
cumstances which  prevent  this.  One  is 
that  the  Catholic  priesthood  has  always 
practically  taught  an  imperfect  morality, 
and  that  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  be- 
tween the  effects  of  precepts  which  are 
wrong  in  themselves,  and  precepts  which 
are  only  wrong  because  of  the  manner  in 
which  they  are  enforced.  The  other  cir- 
cumstance is  that  the  priesthood  has  very 
rarely  found  a  population  willing  to  place 
itself  completely  and  absolutely  under 
priestly  control.  Men  must  live  together 
and  work  for  common  objects  even  in 
priest-ridden  countries  ;  and  those  condi- 
tions which  in  the  course  of  ages  have 
been  able  to  create  the  moral  sense  can- 
not fail  in  some  degree  to  recall  it  to 
men's  minds  and  gradually  to  re-enforce 
it.  Thus  it  comes  about  that  a  great 
and  increasing  portion  of  life  breaks  free 
from  priestly  influences,  and  is  governed 
upon  right  and  rational  grounds.  The 
goodness  of,  men  shows  itself  in  time 
more  powerful  than  the  wickedness  of 
some  of  their  religions. 

The  practical  inference  is,  then,  that 
we  ought  to  do  all  in  our  power  to  re- 
strain and  diminish  the  influence  of  any 
priesthood  which  claims  to  rule  con- 
sciences. But  when  we  attempt  to  go 
beyond  this  plain  Protestant  principle,  we 
find  that  the  question  is  one  of  history 
and  politics.  The  question  which  we 
want  to  ask  ourselves — •  Is  it  right  to 
support  this  or  that  priesthood  ?  ' — can 
only  be  answered  by  this  other  question, 
'What  has  it  done  or  got  done?  ' 

In  asking  this  question,  we  must  bear 
in  mind  that  the  word  priesthood,  as  we 
have  used  it  hitherto,  has  a  very  wide 
meaning — namely,  it  means  any  body  of 
men  who  perform  special  ceremonies  in 
the  name  of  religion  ;  a  ceremony  being 
an  act  which  is  prescribed  by  religion  to 


that  body  of  men,  but  not  on  account  of 
its  intrinsic  Tightness  or  wrongness.  It 
includes,  therefore,  not  only  the  priests 
of  Catholicism,  or  of  the  Obi  rites,  who 
lay  claim  to  a  magical  character  and  pow- 
ers, but  the  more  familiar  clergymen. or 
ministers  of  Protestant  denominations, 
and  the  members  of  monastic  orders. 
But  there  is  a  considerable  difference, 
pointed  out  by  Hume,  between  a  priest 
who  lays  claim  to  a  magical  character 
and  powers,  and  a  clergymen,  in  the 
English  sense/as  it  was  understood  in 
Hume's  day,  whose  office  was  to  remind 
people  of  their  duties  every  Sunday,  and 
to  represent  a  certain  standard  of  culture 
in  remote  country  districts.  It  will,  per- 
haps, conduce  to  clearness  if  we  use  the 
word  priest  exclusively  in  the  first  sense. 
There  is  another  confusion  which  we 
must  endeavor  to  avoid,  if  we  would  really 
get  at  the  truth  of  this  matter.  When  one 
ventures  to  doubt  whether  the  Catholic 
clergy  has  really  been  an  unmixed  blessing 
to  Europe,  one  is  generally  met  by  the  re-' 
ply, '  You  cannot  find  any  fault  with  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount.'  Now  it  would  be 
too  much  to  say  that  this  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  question  we  were  proposing 
to  ask,  for  there  is  a  sense  in  which  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  and  the  Catholic 
clergy  have  something  to  do  with  each 
other.  The  Sermon  on  the  Mount  is  ad- 
mitted on  all  hands  to  be  the  best  and 
most  precious  thing  that  Christianity  has 
offered  to  the  world  ;  and  it  cannot  be 
doubted  that  the  Catholic  clergy  of  East 
and  West  were  the  only  spokesmen  of 
Christianity  until  the  Reformation,  and 
are  the  spokesmen  of  the  vast  majority  of 
Christians  at  this  moment.  But  it  must 
surely  be  unnecessary  to  say  in  a  Protest- 
ant country  that  the  Catholic  Church  and 
the  Gospel  are  two  very  different  things. 
The  moral  teaching  of  Christ,  as  partly, 
preserved  in  the  three  first  gospels,  or—- 
which is  the  same  thing— the  moral  teach- 
ing of  the  great  Rabbi  Hillel,  as  partly 
preserved  in  the  Pirke  Aboth,  is  the  ex- 
pression of  the  conscience  of  a  people  who 
had  fought  long  and  heroically  for  their 
national  existence.  In  that  terrible  con- 
flict they  had  learned  the  supreme  and 
overwhelming  importance  of  conduct, 
the  necessity  for  those  who  would  survive 
of  fighting  manfully  for  their  lives  and 
making  a  stand  against  the  hostile  powers 
around  ;  the  weakness  and  uselessness  of 
solitary  and  selfish  efforts,  the  necessity 
for  a  man  who  would  be  a  man  to  Idse 
his  poor  single  personality  in  the  being  of 
a  greater  and  nobler  combatant — the  na- 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


1338]' '43 


Arid  they  said  all  this,  after  their  j 
fashion  of  short  and  potent  sayings,  per- 
haps better  than  any  other  men  have  said 
it  before  or  since.  '  If  I  am  not  for  my- 
self/ said  the  great  Hillel,  '  who  is  for  me  ? 
And  if  I  am  only  for  myself,  where  is  the 
use  of  me  ?  And  if  not  now,  when  1 ' 
It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  striking 
contrast  than  exists  between  the  sturdy 
unselfish  independence  of  this  saying,  and 
the  abject  and  selfish  servility  of  the  priest- 
ridden  claimant  of  the  skies.  It  was  this 
heroic  people  that  produced  the  morality 
of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  But  it  was 
not  they  who  produced  the  priests  and  the 
dogmas  of  Catholicism.  Shaven  crowns, 
linen  vestments,  and  the  claim  to  priestly 
rule  over  consciences,  these  were  dwell- 
ers on  the  banks  of  the  Nile.  The  gos- 
pel indeed  came  out  of  Judaea,  but  the 
Church  and  her  dogmas  came  out  of 
Egypt.  Not,  as  it  is  written,  'Out  of 
Egypt  have  I  called  my  son,'  but '  Out 
of  Egypt  have  I  called  my  daughter.'  St. 
Gregory  of  Nazianzum  remarked  with 
wonder  that  Egypt,  having  so  lately  wor- 
shiped bulls,  goats,  and  crocodiles,  was 
now  teaching  the  world  the  worship  of 
the  Trinity  in  its  truest  form.  Poor,  sim- 
ple St.  Gregory!  it  was  not  that  Egypt 
nad  risen  higher,  but  that  the  world  had 
sunk  lower.  The  empire,  which  in  the 
time  of  Augustus  had  dreaded,  and  with 
reason,  the  corrupting  influence  of  Egyp- 
tian superstitions,  was  now  eaten  up  by 
them,  and  rapidly  rotting  away. 

Then,  when  we  ask  what  has  been  the 
influence  of  the  Catholic  clergy  upon 
European  nations,  we  are  not  inquiring 
about  the  results  of  accepting  the  moral- 
ity of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount ;  we  are 
inquiring  into  the  effect  of  attaching  an 
Egyptian  priesthood,  which  teaches  Egyp- 
tian dogmas,  to  the  life  and  sayings  of  a 
Jewish  prophet. 

In  this  inquiry,  which  requires  the 
knowledge  of  facts  beyond  our  own  im- 
mediate experience,  we  must  make  use  of 
the  great  principle  of  authority,  which  en- 
ables us  to  profit  by  the  experience  of 
other  men.  The  great  civilized  countries 
on  the  continent  of  Europe  at  the  present 
day — France,  Germany,  Austria,  and  Italy 
— have  had  an  extensive  experience  of 
the  Catholic  clergy  for  a  great  number  of 
centuries,  and  they  are  forced  by  strong 
practical  reasons  to  form  a  judgment  up- 
on the  character  and  tendencies  of  an  in- 
ttitution  which  is  sufficiently  powerful  to 
command  the  attention  of  all  who  are  in- 
terested in  public  affairs.  We  might  add 
the  experience  of  our  forefathers  three  cent- 


uries ago,  and  of  Ireland  at  this  moment ; 
but  home  politics  are  apt  to  be  looked  upon 
with  other  eyes  than  those  of  reason.  Let 
us  hear,  then,  the  judgment  of  the  civilized 
people  of  Europe  on  this  question. 

It  is  a  matter  of  notoriety  that  an  aider 
and  abettor  of  clerical  pretensions  is  re- 
garded in  France  as  an  enemy  of  France 
and  of  Frenchmen;  in  Germany  as  an 
enemy  of  Germany  and  of  Germans ;  in 
Austria  as  an  enemy  of  Austria  and  Hun- 
gary, of  both  Austrians  and  Magyars; 
and  in  Italy  as  an  enemy  of  Italy  and  the 
Italians.  He  is  so  regarded,  not  by  a  few 
wild  and  revolutionary  enthusiasts  who 
have  cast  away  all  the  beliefs  of  their 
childhood  and  all  bonds  connecting  them 
with  the  past,  but  by  a  great  and  increas- 
ing majority  of  sober  and  conscientious 
men  of  all  creeds  and  persuasions,  who 
are  filled  with  a  love  for  their  country,  and 
whose  hopes  and  aims  for  the  future  are 
animated  and  guided  by  the  examples  of 
those  who  have  gone  before  them,  and  by 
a  sense  of  the  continuity  of  national  life. 
The  profound  conviction  and  determina- 
tion of  the  people  in  all  these  countries, 
that  the  clergy  must  be  restricted  to  a 
purely  ceremonial  province,  and  must  not 
be  allowed  to  interfere,  as  clergy,  in  pub- 
lic affairs— this  conviction  and  determi- 
nation, I  say,  are  not  the  effect  of  a  rejec- 
tion of  the  Catholic  dogmas.  Such  re- 
jection has  not  in  fact  been  made  in  Cath- 
olic countries  by  the  great  majority.  ]t 
involves  many  difficult  speculative  ques- 
tions, the  profound  disturbance  of  old 
habits  of  thought,  and  the  toilsome  con- 
sideration of  abstract  ideas.  But  such  is 
the  happy  inconsistency  of  human  nature, 
that  men  who  would  be  shocked  and 
pained  by  a  doubt  about  the  central  doc- 
trines of  their  religions  are  far  more 
really  and  practically  shocked  and  pained 
by  the  moral  consequences  of  clerical  as- 
cendency. About  the  dogmas  they  do 
not  know ;  they  were  taught  them  in 
cbildhood,  and  have  not  inquired  into 
them  since,  and  therefore  they  are  not 
competent  witnesses  to  the  truth  of  them. 
But  about  the  priesthood  they  do  know, 
by  daily  and  hourly  experience;  and  to 
its  character  they  are  competent  witnesses. 
No  man  can  express  his  convictions  more 
forcibly  than  by  acting  upon  them  in  a 
great  and  solemn  matter  of  national  im- 
portance. In  all  these  countries  the  con- 
viction of  the  serious  and  sober  majority 
of  the  people  is  embodied,  and  is  being 
daily  embodied,  in  special  legislation, 
openly  and  avowedly  intended  to  guard 
against  clerical  aggression.  The  mora 


44    [334] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


closely  the  legislature  of  these  countries 
reflects  the  popular  will,  the  more  clear 
and  pronounced  does  this  tendency  be- 
come. It  may  be  thwarted  or  evaded 
for  the  moment  by  constitutional  devices 
and  parliamentary  tricks,  but  sooner  or 
later  the  nation  will  be  thoroughly  rep- 
resented in  all  of  them :  and  as  to  what 
is  then  to  be  expected,  let  the  panic  of  the 
clerical  parties  make  answer. 

This  is  a  state  of  opinion  and  of  feeling 
which  we  in  our  own  country  find  it  hard 
to  understand,  although  it  is  one  of  the 
most  persistent  characters  of  our  nation 
in  past  times.  We  have  spoken  so  plainly 
and  struck  so  hard  in  the  past,  that  we 
seem  to  have  won  the  right  to  let  this 
matter  alone.  We  think  our  enemies  are 
dead,  and  we  forget  that  our  neighbor's 
enemies  are  plainly  alive :  and  then  we 
wonder  that  he  does  not  sit  down  and  be 
quiet  as  we  are.  We  are  not  much  ac- 
customed to  be  afraid,  and  we  never  know 
when  we  are  beaten.  But  those  who  are 
nearer  to  the  danger  feel  a  very  real  and, 
it  seems  to  me,  well-grounded  fear.  The 
whole  structure  of  modern  society,  the 
fruit  of  long  and  painful  efforts,  the  hopes 
of  further  improvement,  the  triumphs  of 
justice,  of  freedom,  and  of  light,  the  bonds 
of  patriotism  which  make  each  nation  one, 
the  bonds  of  humanity  which  bring  dif- 
ferent nations  together — all  these  they  see 
to  be  menaced  with  a  great  and  real  and 
even  pressing  danger.  For  myself  I  con- 
fess that  I  cannot  help  feeling  as  they 
feel.  It  seems  to  me  quite  possible  that 
the  moral  and  intellectual  culture  of 
Europe,  the  light  and  the  right,  what 
makes  life  worth  having  and  men  worthy 
to  have  it,  may  be  clean  swept  away  by  a 
revival  of  superstition.  We  are,  perhaps, 
ourselves  not  free  from  such  a  domestic 
danger;  but  no  one  can  doubt  that  the 
danger  would  speedily  arise  if  all  Europe 
at  our  side  should  become  again  barbaric, 
not  with  the  weakness  and  docility  of  a 
barbarism  which  has  never  known  better, 
but  with  the  strength  of  a  past  civilization 
perverted  to  the  service  of  evil. 

Those  who  know  best,  then,  about  the 
Catholic  priesthood  at  present,  regard  it 
as  a  standing  menace  to  the  state  and  to 
the  moral  fabric  of  society. 

Some  would  have  us  believe  that  this 
condition  of  things  is  quite  new,  and  has 
in  fact  been  created  by  the  Vatican 
Council.  In  the  Middle  Ages,  they  say, 
the  Church  did  incalculable  service ;  or 
even  if  you  do  not  allow  that,  yet  the 
ancient  Egyptian'  priesthood  invented 
many  useful  arts;  or  if  you  have  read 


anything  which  is  not  to  their  credit, 
there  were  the  Babylonians  and  Assyrians 
who  had  priests,  thousands  of  years  ago ; 
and  in  fact,  the  more  you  go  back  into 
3rehistoric  ages,  and  the  further  you  go 
away  into  distant  countries,  the  less  you 
an  find  to  say  against  the  priesthoods  of 
:hose  times  and  places.  This  statement, 
for  which  there  is  certainly  much  founda- 
tion, may  be  put  into  another  form :  the 
more  you  come  forward  into  modern 
times  and  neighboring  countries,  where 
the  facts  can  actually  be  got  at,  the  more 
complete  is  the  evidence  against  the 
priesthoods  of  these  times  and  places. 
But  the  whole  argument  is  founded  upon 
what  is  at  least  a  doubtful  view  of  human 
nature  and  of  society.  Just  as  an  early 
school  of  geologists  were  accustomed  to 
explain  the  present  state  of  the  earth's 
surface  by  supposing  that  in  primitive 
ages  the  processes  of  geologic  change 
were  far  more  violent  and  rapid  than  they 
are  now — so  catastrophic,  indeed,  as  to 
constitute  a  thoroughly  different  state  of 
things — so  there  is  a  school  of  historians 
who  think  that  the  intimate  structure  of 
human  nature,  its  capabilities  of  learning 
and  of  adapting  itself  to  society,  have  so 
far  altered  within  the  historic  period  as  to 
make  the  present  processes  of  social 
change  totally  different  in  character  from 
those  even  of' the  moderately  distant  past. 
They  think  that  institutions  and  condi- 
tions which  are  plainly  harmful  to  us  now 
have  at  other  times  and  places  done  good 
and  serviceable  work.  War,  pestilence, 
priestcraft,  and  slavery  have  been  repre- 
sented as  positive  boons  to  an  early  state 
of  society.  They  are  not  blessings  to  us, 
it  is  true;  but  then  times  have  altered 
very  much. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  later  school  of 
geologists  have  seen  reason  to  think  that 
the  processes  of  change  have  never,  since 
the  earth  finally  solidified,  been  very  dif- 
ferent from  what  they  are  now.  More 
rapid,  indeed,  they  must  have  been  in 
early  times,  for  many  reasons  ;  but  not  so 
very  much  more  rapid  as  to  constitute  an 
entirely  different  state  of  things.  And  it 
does  seem  to  me  in  like  manner  that  a 
wider  and  more  rational  view  of  history 
will  recognize  more  and  more  of  the  per- 
manent, and  less  and  less  of  the  change- 
able, element  in  human  nature.  No 
doubt  our  ancestors  of  a  thousand  gen- 
erations back  were  very  different  being* 
from  ourselves;  perhaps  fifty  thousand 
generations  back  they  were  not  men  at 
all.  But  the  historic  period  is  hardly  to 
be  stretched  beyond  two  hundred- genera- 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[335]    43 


tions ;  and  it  seems  unreasonable  to  ex- 
pect that  in  such  a  tiny  page  of  our  biog- 
raphy we  can  trace  with  clearness  the 
growth  and  progress  of  a  long  life.  Com- 
pare Egypt  in  the  time  of  King  Menes, 
say  six  thousand  years  ago,  with  Spain  in 
this  present  century,  before  Englishmen 
made  any  railways  there :  I  suppose  the 
main  difference  is  that  the  Egyptians 
washed  themselves.  It  seems  more  an- 
alogous to  what  we  find  in  other  fields  of 
<  inquiry  to  suppose  that  there  are  certain 
great  broad  principles  of  human  life  which 
have  been  true  all  along;  that  certain 
conditions  have  always  been  favorable  to 
the  health  of  society,  and  certain  other 
conditions  always  hurtful. 

Now,  although  I  have  many  times 
asked  for  it  from  those  who  said  that 
somewhere  and  at  some  time  mankind 
had  derived  benefits  from  a  priesthood 
laying  claim  to  a  magical  character  and 
powers,  I  have  never  been  able  to  get  any 
evidence  for  their  statement.  Nobody 
will  give  me  a  date,  and  a  latitude  and 
longitude,  that  I  may  examine  into  the 
matter.  '  In  the  Middle  Ages  the  priests 
and  monks  were  the  sole  depositaries  of 
learning.'  Quite  so ;  a  man  burns  your 
house  to  the  ground,  builds  a  wretched 
hovel  on  the  ruins,  and  then  takes  credit 
for  whatever  shelter  there  is  about  the 
place.  In  the  Middle  Ages  nearly  all 
learned  men  were  obliged  to  become 
priests  and  monks.  '  Then  again,  the 
bishops  have  sometimes  acted  as  tribunes 
of  the  people,  to  protect  them  against  the 
tyranny  of  kings.'  No  doubt,  when  Pope 
and  Caesar  fall  out,  honest  men  may 
come  by  their  own.  If  two  men  rob  you 
in  a  dark  lane,  and  then  quarrel  over  the 
plunder,  so  that  you  get  a  chance  to 
escape  with  your  life,  you  will  of  course 
be  very  grateful  to  each  of  them  for  hav- 
ing prevented  the  other  from  killing  you 
but  you  would  be  much  more  grateful  to 
a  policeman  who  locked  them  both  up. 
Two  powers  have  sought  to  enslave  the 
people,  and  have  quarreled  with  each 
other ;  certainly  we  are  very  much  obliged 
to  them  for  quarreling,  but  a  condition 
of  still  greater  happiness  and  security 
would  be  the  non-existence  of  both. 

I  can  find  no  evidence  that  seriously 
militates  against  the  rule  that  the  priest 
is  at  all  times  and  in  all  places  the  enemy 
of  all  men — Sacerdos  semper,  ubigue,  et 
omnibus  inimicus.  I  do  not  deny  that 
the  priest  is  very  often  a  most  earnest  anc 
>  conscientious  man,  doing  the  very  best 
that  he  knows  of  as  well  as  he  can  do  it 
Lord  Aoiberley  is  quite  right  in  saying 


that  the  blame  rests  more  with  the  laity 
than  with  the  priesthood  ;  that  it  has  in- 
sisted on  magic  and  mysteries,  and  has 
forced  the  priesthood  to  produce  them. 
But  then,  how  dreadful  is  the  system  that 
puts  good  men  to  such  uses ! 

And  although  it  is  true  that  in  its  ori- 
gin a  priesthood  is  the  effect  of  an  evil 
already  existing,  a  symptom  of  social  dis- 
ase  rather  than  a  cause  of  it,  yet,  once  • 
being  created  and  made  powerful,  it  tends 
in  many  ways  to  prolong  and  increase 
the  disease  which  gave  it  birth.  One  of 
these  ways  is  so  marked  and  of  such 
practical  importance  that  we  are  bound 
to  consider  it  here  :  I  mean  the  education 
of  children.  If  there  is  one  lesson  which 
history  forces  upon  us  in  every  page,  it  is 
this:  Keep  your  children  away  from  the 
priest,  or  he  will  make  them  the  enemies 
of  mankind.  It  is  not  the  Catholic  clergy 
and  those  like  them  who  are  alone  to  be 
dreaded  in  this  matter;  even  the  repre- 
sentatives of  apparently  harmless  religions 
may  do  incalculable  mischief  if  they  get 
education  into  their  hands.  To  the  early 
Mohammedans  the  mosque  was  the  one 
public  building  in  every  place  where  pub- 
lic business  could  be  transacted ;  and  so 
it  was  naturally  the  place  of  primary  edu- 
cation, which  they  held  to  be  a  matter  of 
supreme  importance.  By  and  by,  as  the 
clergy  grew  up,  the  mosque  was  gradu- 
ally usurped  by  them,  and  primary  edu- 
cation fell  into  their  hands.  Then  ensued 
a  '  revival  of  religion  ; '  religion  became  a 
fanaticism :  books  were  burnt  and  univer- 
sities were  closed ;  the  empire  rotted 
away  in  East  and  West,  until  it  was  con- 
quered by  Turkish  savages  in  Asia  and 
by  Christian  savages  in  Spain. 

The  labors  of  students  of  the  early  his- 
tory of  institutions — notably  Sir  Henry 
Maine  and  M.  de  Laveleye — have  dis- 
closed to  us  an  element  of  society  which 
appears  to  have  existed  in  all  times  and 
places,  and  which  is  the  basis  of  our  own 
social  structure.  The  village  community, 
or  commune,  or  township,  found  in 
tribes  of  the  most  varied  race  and  time, 
has  so  modified  itself  as  to  get  adapted 
in  one  place  or  another  to  all  the  different 
conditions  of  human  existence.  This 
union  of  men  to  work  for  a  common  ob- 
ject has  transformed  them  from  wild  ani- 
mals into  tame  ones.  Century  by  cent- 
ury the  educating  process  of  the  so- 
cial life  has  been  working  at  human 
nature  ;  it  has  built  itself  into  our  inmost 
soul.  Such  as  we  are — moral  and  ra- 
tional beings — thinking  and  talking  in 
general  conceptions  about  the  -facts  that 


4Q    [33C] 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  BASIS  OF  MORALS, 


make  up  our  life,  feeling  a  necessity  to 
act,  not  for  ourselves,  but  for  Ourself,  for 
the  larger  life  of  Man  in  which  we  are 
elements ;  such  moral  and  rational  beings, 
I  say,  Man  has  made  us.  By  Man  I 
mean  men  organized  into  a  society,  which 
fights  for  its  life,  not  only  as  a  mere  col- 
lection of  men  who  must  separately  be 
kept  alive,  but  as  a  society.  It  must  fight 
not  only  against  external  enemies,  but 
against  treason  and  disruption  within  it. 
Hence  comes  the  unity  of  interest  of  all 
its  members ;  each  of  them  has  to  feel 
that  he  is  not  himself  only  but  a  part  of 
ail  the  rest.  Conscience — the  sense  of 
right  and  wrong — springs  out  of  the 
habit  of  judging  things  from  the  point  of 
view  of  all  and  not  of  one.  It  is  Ourself, 
not  ourselves,  that  makes  for  righteous- 
ness. 

The  codes  of  morality,  then,  which  are 
adopted  into  various  religions,  and  after 
ward  taught  as  parts  of  religious  systems, 
are  derived  from  secular  sources.  The 
most  ancient  version  of  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments, whatever  the  investigations 
of  scholars  may  make  it  out  to  be,  origi- 
nates, not  in  the  thunders  of  Sinai,  but  in 
the  peaceful  life  of  men  on  the  plains  of 
Chaldaea.  Conscience  is  the  voice  of 
Man  ingrained  into  our  hearts,  command- 
ing us  to  work  for  Man. 

Religions  differ  in  the  treatment  which 
they  give  to  this  most  sacred  heirloom  of 
our  past  history.  Sometimes  they  in- 
vert its  precepts — telling  men  to  be  sub- 
missive under  oppression  because  the 
powers  that  be  are  ordained  of  God  ;  tell- 
ing them  to  believe  where  they  have  not 
seen,  and  to  play  with  falsehood  in  order 
that  a  particular  doctrine  may  prevail,  in- 
stead of  seeking  for  truth  whatever  it 
may  be;  telling  them  to  betray  their 
country  for  the  sake  of  their  church. 
But  there  is  one  great  distinction  to 
which  I  wish,  in  conclusion,  to  call  special 
attention — a  distinction  between  two 
kinds  of  religious  emotion  which  bear 
upon  the  conduct  of  men. 

We  said  that  conscience  is  the  voice  of 
Man  within  us,  commanding  us  to  work 
for  Man.  We  do  not  know  this  imme- 
diately by  our  own  experience ;  we  only 
know  that  something  within  us  commands 
us  to  work  for  Man.  This  fact  men  have 
tried  to  explain  ;  and  they  have  thought, 
for  the  most  part,  that  this  voice  was  the 
voice  of  a  God.  But  the  explanation 
takes  two  different  forms  :  the  God  may 
speak  in  us  for  Man's  sake,  or  for  his 
own  sake.  If  he  speaks  for  his  own  sake 
— and  this  is  what  generally  happens 


when  he  has  priests  who  lay  claim  to  a 
magical  character  and  powers — our  alle- 
giance is  apt  to  be  taken  away  from  Man, 
and  transferred  to  the  God.  When  we 
love  our  brother  for  the  sake  of  our 
brother,  we  help  all  men  to  grow  in  the 
right ;  but  when  we  love  our  brother  for 
the  sake  of  somebody  else,  who  is  very 
likely  to  damn  our  brother,  it  very  soon 
comes  to  burning  him  alive  for  his  soul's 
health.  When  men  respect  human  life 
for  the  sake  of  Man,  tranquillity,  order 
and  progress  go  hand  in  hand  ;  but  those 
who  only  respected  human  life  because 
God  had  forbidden  murder  have  set  their 
mark  upon  Europe  in  fifteen  centuries  of 
blood  and  fire. 

These  are  only  two  examples  of  a  gen- 
eral rule.  Wherever  the  allegiance  of 
men  has  been  diverted  from  Man  to  some 
divinity  who  speaks  to  men  for  his  own 
sake  and  seeks  his  own  glory,  one  thing 
has  happened.  The  right  precepts  might 
be  enforced,  but  they  were  enforced 
upon  wrong  grounds,  and  they  were  not 
obeyed.  But  right  precepts  are  not  al- 
ways enforced ;  the  fact  that  the  fount- 
ains of  morality  have  been  poisoned 
makes  it  easy  to  substitute  wrong  pre- 
cepts for  right  ones. 

To  this  same  treason  against  humanity 
belongs  the  claim  of  the  priesthood  to 
take  away  the  guilt  of  a  sinner  after  con- 
fession has  been  made  to  it.  The  Catho- 
lic priest  professes  to  act  as  an  embassa- 
dor  for  his  God,  and  to  absolve  the  guilty 
man  by  conveying  to  him  the  forgiveness 
of  heaven.  If  his  credentials  were  ever 
so  sure,  if  he  were  indeed  the  embassa- 
dor  of  a  superhuman  power,  the  claim 
would  be  treasonable.  Can  the  favor  of 
the  Czar  make  guiltless  the  murderer  of 
old  men  and  women  and  children  in  Cir- 
cassian valleys  ?  Can  the  pardon  of  the 
Sultan  make  clean  the  bloody  hands  of  a 
Pasha?  As  little  can  any  God  forgive 
sins  committed  against  man.  When 
men  think  he  can,  they  compound  for  old 
sins  which  the  God  did  not  like  by  com- 
mitting new  ones  which  he  does  like. 
Many  a  remorseful  despot  has  atoned  for 
the  levities  of  his  youth  by  the  persecu- 
tion of  heretics  in  his  old  _  age.  That 
frightful  crime,  the  adulteration  of  food, 
could  not  possibly  be  so  common  among 
us  if  men  were  not  taught  to  regard  it  as 
merely  objectionable  because  it  is  re- 
motely connected  with  stealing,  of  which 
God  has  expressed  his  disapproval  in  the 
Decalogue  ;  and  therefore  as  quite,  natu- 
rally set  right  by  a  punctual  attendance  at 
church  on  Sundays.  When  a  Ritualist 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


[337J    47 


breaks  his  fast  before  celebrating  the 
Holy  Communion,  his  deity  can  forgive 
Him  if  he  likes,  for  the  matter  concerns 
nobody  else  ;  but  no  deity  can  forgive 
him  for  preventing  his  parishioners  from 
setting  up  a  public  library  and  reading- 
room  for  fear  they  should  read  Mr.  Dar- 
win's works  in  it.  That  sin  is  committed 
against  the  people,  and  a  God  cannot 
take  it  away. 

I  call  those  religions  which  undermine 
the  supreme  allegiance  of  the  conscience 
to  Man  ultramontane  religions,  because 
they  seek  their  springs  of  action  -ultra 
monies,  outside  of  the  common  experience 
and  daily  life  of  man.  And  I  remark 
about  them  that  they  are  especially  apt 
to  teach  wrong  precepts,  and  that  even 
•hen  they  command  men  to  do  the  right 
lings  they  put  the  command  upon  wrong 
lotives,  and  do  not  get  the  things  done. 
But  there  are  forms  of  religious  emo- 
tion which  do  not  thus  undermine  the 
conscience.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  under- 
value the  help  and  strength  which  many 
of  the  bravest  of  our  brethren  have  drawn 
.from  the  thought  of  an  unseen  helper  of 
men.  He  who,  wearied  or  stricken  in  the 
fight  with  the  powers  of  darkness,  asks 
himself  in  a  solitary  place,  •  Is  it  all  for 
nothing  ?  shall  we  indeed  be  overthrown  ?  ' 
— he  does  find  something  which  may 
justify  that  thought.  In  such  a  moment 
of  utter  sincerity,  when  a  man  has  bared 
his  own  soul  before  the  immensities  and 


the  eternities,  a  presence  in  which  his  own 
poor  personality  is  shriveled  into  nothing- 
ness arises  within  him,  and  says,  as  plainly 
as  words  can  say,  '  I  am  with  thee,  and  I 
am  greater  than  thou.'  Many  names  of 
j  Gods,  of  many  shapes,  have  men  given 
to  this  presence  ;  seeking  by  names  and 
pictures  to  know  more  clearly  and  to  re- 
member more  continually  the  guide  and 
the  helper  of  men.  No  such  comrade- 
ship with  the  Great  Companion  shall  have 
anything  but  reverence  from  me,  who  have 
known  the  divine  gentleness  of  Denison 
Maurice,  the  strong  and  healthy  practical 
instinct  of  Charles  Kingsley,  and  who  now 
revere  with  all  my  heart  the  teaching  of 
James  Martineau.  They  seem  to  me,  one  j 
and  all,  to  be  reaching  forward  with  lov-  I 
ing  anticipation  to  a  clearer  vision  which  \ 
is  yet  to  come — tendentesque  manus  rtpce 
ulteriorts  atnore.  For,  after  all,  such  a 
helper  of  men,  outside  of  humanity,  the 
truth  will  not  allow  us  to  see.  The  dim 
and  shadowy  outlines  of  the  superhuman 
deity  fade  slowly  away  from  before  us ; 
and  as  the  mist  of  his  presence  floats  aside, 
we  perceive  with  greater  and  greater  clear- 
ness the  shape  of  a  yet  grander  and  nobler 
figure — of  Him  who  made  all  Gods  and 
shall  unmake  them.  From  the  dim  dawn 
of  history,  and  from  the  inmost  depth  of 
every  soul,  the  face  of  our  father  Man 
looks  out  upon  us  with  the  fire  of  eternal 
youth  in  his  eyes,  and  says,  '  Before  Je- 
hovah was,  I  am ! ' 


CONTENTS. 


I.  The  Scientific  Basis  of  Morals  I 

II.  Right  and  Wrong , 7 

III.  The  Ethics  of  Belief 25 

IV.  The  Ethics  of  Religion 36 


ON 


POLITICAL  ECONOMY 


BY 


HENRY  GEORGE. 


T.  PROGRESS  AND  POVERTY. 

This  work  is  universally  admitted  to  be  the 
most  original  and  most  forcible  discussion  of 
the  facts  and  principles  of  politico-economic 
science  produced  in  our  time.  It  has  been 
translated  into  all  the  languages  of  Conti- 
nental Europe,  and  it  is  producing  a  revolu- 
tion in  the  domain  of  Sociology  and  Gov- 
ernment. 

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II.  SOCIAL  PROBLEMS. 
From  the  Author's  Preface  :— "  My  en- 
deavor has  been  to  present  the  momentous 
social  problems  of  our  time,  unencumbered  by 
technicalities,  and  without  that  abstract  rea- 
soning which  some  of  the  principles  of  Politi- 
cal Economy  (or  perhaps,  rather,  false  teach- 
ings in  regard  to  them)  require  for  thorough 
comprehension." 

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ant  works;  Abstracts  and  Extracts  from  Current  Scientific  Literature;  condensed  Monthly  Resume 
of  Electrical  Progress  at  home  and  abroad,  especially  in  the  Dep_artments  of  Telegraphy,  Telephony, 
Kkwtric  Lighting,  Transmission  of  Power,  Manufacture  and  Trade,  etc.,  etc.;  Inventors'  Record, 
including  classified  lists  of  United  States  Patente,  Abstracts  of  Legal  Decisions  in  Patent  Cues  in 
the  U.  S.  Courts  and  in  the  Patent  Office. 

OJSTHL/ir  01.OO  IPIElEfc  "5TE.AJR. 

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CROSBY'S 

VITALIZED  PHOSPHITES, 


COMPOSED 


NERVE-GIVING 

PRINCIPLES 
OF  THE 


THIS  is  a  standard  preparation  with  all  physicians  who  treat  nervous  or 
mental  disorders.  It  is  not  a  secret,  the  formula  is  on  every  label.  Its 
careful  chemical  composition  has  been  superintended  for  twelve  years  by  a 
Professor  of  Materia  Medica,  and  its  correct  analysis  vouched  for  by  a  Pro- 
fessor of  Chemistry.  Physicians  alone  have  prescribed  over  a  million  bot- 
tles, curing  nervous  derangements  and  debility. 

It  aids  in  the  bodily,  and  wonderfully  in  the  mental,  growth  of  children. 
It  cures  fretfulness  and  sleeplessness. 

By  its  special  tonic  effect  upon  the  nerves,  and  its  vitalizing  influence 
on  the  blood  of  young  persons,  it  brightens  the  eyes  and  gives  good  color  to 
the  lips ;  it  ensures  a  soft,  smooth  skin,  glossy  hair  and  handsome  nails,  so 
that  these  become  an  inheritance  in  later  years.  It  feeds  the  brain  and 
thus  strengthens  the  intellect,  so  that  study  and  deep  mental  application  may 
be  a  pleasure,  not  a  toil. 

It  is  used  as  a  special  brain  tonic  by  all  the  best  minds  of  this  and  other 
countries. 

It  strengthens  the  powers  of  digestion,  is  a  positive  cure  for  night- 
sweats,  and  PREVENTS  consumption. 

"  It  amplifies  bodily  and  mental  powers  to  the  present  generation  and 
i  proves  the  survival  of  the  fittest,'  to  the  next." 

"  There  is  no  other  Vital  Phosphite  ;  none  that  is  extracted  from  living 
vegetable  and  animal  tissues." 

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